


[Pros] and [Cons] of Breathing

by MelodramaticMrTails



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Comedy, Dating, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Friendship, Frottage, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Private School, Romance, Sexual Experimentation, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodramaticMrTails/pseuds/MelodramaticMrTails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson has no idea what Sherlock Holmes wants from him. Mycroft Holmes knows what Gregory Lestrade wants. Sebastian Moran know exactly what he wants to do to Jim Moriarty. Irene Adler still knows what people like. Henry is head over heels. Anderson, too [twice]. Sally's annoyed. Harry's unhelpful. Molly got exactly what she wanted and more. Is it graduation yet?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 221 Baker Street School For the Talented

**Author's Note:**

> I know I used a lot of tags, but there's literally a bit for everyone and every character and their relationships, even if only a small one. It'll mainly focus on Sebastian and Jim; Sherlock and John; and Gregory, Harry, and Mycroft. Ages are from fifteen to eighteen.

[Pros] and [Cons]

Of Breathing

  


[Sherlock]the Sword and the Shield[Jim]

[Sherlock]the Rock and the Balloon[John]

[Jim]the Prince and the Tiger[Sebastian]

[Mycroft]the Nest and the Secret[Gregory]

[Harry]the Power and the Pride[Mycroft]

[Henry]the Wolf and the Lamb[Martin]

[Molly]the Whisper and the Whip[Irene]

[Anderson]the Vengeful and the Bitter[Sally]

[Anthea]

Chapter One: 221 Baker Street School For the Talented

Jim & [Sebastian] & Sherlock

  
“I heard the school’s going to start accepting paid scholarships.”  
  
“They’ve already lowered their scoring. I don’t see how this will be much different.”  
  
“Because now we’ll have really stupid rich people instead of just the smart rich people. Stupid rich people are gross and snobby and don’t even do it right,” Jim complained, kicking his heels against the side of the building. Sebastian held the back of his shirt to prevent him from taking a dive off the top of the six tiered building again.   
  
“Honestly. If I could have paid my way in, I wouldn’t have taken that stupid test. Now I’m going to have a whole bunch of bitchy rich boys in my business classes that don’t even know what a business is.”   
  
“They’ll rethink their decision when the school’s test scores go down. It’s inevitable.”   
  
“Easy for you to say. It’s harder to pretend to be good at music,” Jim scoffed. Sherlock only shrugged a little, though, agreeing with his friend carelessly. Quite honestly, it was easy for him to ignore people. It was a skill he had long since perfected to protect himself and his talent. If he let every idiot talk him into being ashamed of himself, he would have gotten nowhere.   
  
“Carter is a cunt,” Jim huffed, reaching back to take the cigarette out of Sebastian’s hand and stealing a slow puff off of it. He held it in a moment before blowing it out the corner of his mouth and passing it back.   
  
“Agreed,” Sherlock answered, plucking at the strings of his violin. Sebastian offered him a drag on his cigarette and Sherlock gladly accepted, taking the fag between thin fingers and sucking in his fair share of sweet nicotine smoke. He passed it back.   
  
“Let’s put explosives in his office.” Jim smiled back at his blond friend, a suggestive smile that could make poor Sebastian do anything under the sun. Unfortunately for Sebastian. He frowned.  
  
“I have fireworks left over. That’s it,” Sebastian grunted, grabbing Jim around the upper arm as he flopped back onto the gravel rooftop. Sebastian dragged his little friend completely onto the roof, making sure he was safely stationary.   
  
“Can you put them in his pants?” The Irish accent mused to the clouds. “Actually, anywhere near his genitals would be good.”   
  
“I’ll see what I can do,” Sebastian murmured, though he wasn’t nearly as reluctant as he would have liked to have been. The principal was a cunt. Sebastian was, technically, expelled at the moment. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the school grounds, but Jim and Sherlock worked their magic in the same way they always did and no one actually knew. No record; no crime. Right on time, the bell rang and the two geniuses looked up to the old, rustic bell with similar frowned.   
  
“I guess we should get to class,” Jim said with a tired sigh. Sherlock nodded. Neither of them showed any sign of moving in any direction to do anything akin to going to class. Sebastian put his cigarette out in the gravel and grabbed Jim by the back of his collar. A heavy hand hoisted him off the ground and the tiny figure squirmed to getting his foot, still letting Sebastian do most the work. He grabbed Sherlock by his scarf and thankfully, the violinist followed with less reluctance, unwilling to be dragged and unwanting to be choked.  
  
“Seb,” Jim whined softly. “Class is boring. The teacher is stupid and my classmates are slow at best. Sebastian didn’t dare released them until they were completely down the stairs and before the trio of lockers. Jim stuck his tongue out at him, but boredly went about spinning the combination on his locker excessively.   
  
“I only came because it’s Wednesday,” Jim scoffed, opening his locker. He shuffled about it a little, collecting the excess of little ‘love notes’ from the last week. Sherlock settled his violin in the top of his locker and did the same.   
  
“Eight!” Jim crinkled the papers between his fingers and thumb.   
  
“Seven.” Sherlock frowned at him.  
  
“Fourteen.” Sebastian actually glanced through his, however. He wasn’t interested in any of them, but it was good to know. He’d look through Jim’s too, but that was just to make sure Jim stayed away from them.   
  
“What? How do you keep getting more than us? You’re- you’re not even pretty,” Jim complained louder than he actually needed to. Sebastian didn’t pay much attention to him. Of course he wasn’t bloody pretty. Sherlock and Jim were ‘pretty’ which was probably why Sebastian got most of his love letters from girls.   
  
“It’s his features, clearly.” Sherlock leaned into the lockers to Sebastian’s left and peeked over his love letters to view his face. Jim mimicked him on Sebastian’s right. “Intelligent people,”  
  
“Using the term loosely.”  
  
“Are more often attracted to abnormal features. You and I have symmetrical faces, making us the targets for the more average population while Sebastian has uneven features due to his scarring and rugby injuries.” He explained, pointing out the obvious marks and cuts on his friend’s face. Sebastian ignored them.   
  
“He’s big, too. A protector type. More appealing to non-dominant personality types. Even in a school like this, sports are considered a valid form of entertainment, making Sebastian easily one of the most popular males in such a small school. What would you say, second?” Jim continued, squeezing Sebastian’s firm, muscular upper arm with pointy fingers.  
  
“Likely. Watson clearly takes first. Lestrade third. As far as sports go,” Sherlock stated as if it were so simple.  
  
“I wonder how many love letters Watson gets. His skill in rugby and his grades make him desirable to both sides. He’s stupidly kind, decently handsome, and utterly normal. He’s an overlap.” The two geniuses nodded to one another, approving their combined idea. Neither of them actually cared, but it was something to keep them from gorging their eyes out in boredom. Sometimes Sebastian wondered which he preferred better.   
  
“He doesn’t get any. He has a girlfriend,” Sebastian assured them, helping each of them (forcing both of them) to gather their things for the next class. Jim made his own money over the internet, taking care of himself and his needs without any help from his abusive father and neglectful mother, and he wouldn’t be caught dead with a textbook. Like most of the school, he was on the edge of technology and even then, Sebastian had a hard time getting Jim to carry his tablet anywhere. Sherlock was only minutely easier and that was only because Sebastian could shove it in his coat pocket without any complaining. Jim and his bloody suits.  
  
“That Hopper one?” Jim asked with an air of amusement.   
  
“No. Sawyer,” Sebastian corrected. Neither of them made any sign of knowing who that was. She wasn’t exactly popular, after all. Watson kind of outshone her most the time. “Sarah Sawyer. Uh. I actually can’t think of anyway to connect her to you.”  
  
“Then she’s clearly dull,” Jim scoffed.   
  
“And a waste of time,” Sherlock added.   
  
“Besides. What does that have to do with receiving love letters?”   
  
“Some people are actually courteous about whether the people they like is dating someone or not. Girls aren’t going to send him love letters hoping he’ll break up with her,” Sebastian assured them in their daily dose of reality. Jim frowned in confusion and Sherlock’s eyebrows came together. Not that they ever understood reality.   
  
“I think we should send him some love letters,” Jim announced.   
  
“It would be a worthwhile experiment. The female Watson is gay, it would be curious to see how he reacts to it,” Sherlock pondered back. The two of them walked in front of Sebastian, somehow always managing to exclude him and his smaller intellect. He had little hope of keeping up with either of them ever, so Sebastian never actually tried. It wasn’t very rewarding anyways. He kept Jim from falling off buildings, and Sherlock from wandering into dangerous situations, and Jim getting in trouble and Sherlock from being bullied. In return, he could love Jim from up close and Sherlock wouldn’t tell Jim of this infatuation. Sherlock agreed with him; Jim wouldn’t return such mundane feelings.   
  
“It would seem suspicious if we both sent him love letters. You play with Watson, who’s more of his type?”   
  
“Sherlock.” Sebastian didn’t miss a beat. He wasn’t actually going to let Jim entwine himself with someone else. He did that all on his own, usually with someone far less intelligent despite all the complaining he did about stupid people. A second thought made his choice a good one regardless. Sherlock could get a rise out of anyone, even the calm tempered Watson.   
  
“Mm. Lay it on thick, love," Jim purred.   
  
"Let me use your red ink," Sherlock shot back, which was more than enough to answer. Using combined techniques learned from entertainment sources and the letters he received he could scrap together a convincing display of affection that will cause a variety of responses from his target. Sherlock wasn't sure what those responses would be just yet, but that was the point of the experiment.   
  
"Don't expect much. Like I said, he does have a girlfriend and he is generally collected," Sebastian offered up even though he knew they were only challenges for the geniuses. Watson had one hell of a temper, but he knew how to control it most of the time. When he didn't people got hurt; badly. Sure enough, Sherlock ignored him. As they sat together in criminology, Sherlock scrolled out an elegantly written love letter with his danity pen and red, red ink. Jim's handwriting made the ink appear as though it'd been touched by death but Sherlock's hand flowered in an artistic touch. He must have been mimicking it from someone or somewhere. Sebastian never actually knew what his real handwriting looked like, if he had one. It confused the teachers constantly, especially when he and Jim insisted on using the same font. Neither of them were cheaters, but it was just unsettling at the best of times.   
  
Sebastian knew he should be watching what Sherlock wrote, making sure it wasn't unusual, incriminating, or anything else that could possibly pop out of his pen, but he had already decided he wanted to stay as far away from this as possible.   
  
While Sherlock wrote, Jim was busy flirting with his neighbor. Sebastian tried to pay attention to them and the class with little luck. He'd learned about sociopaths in his psychology class and unfortunately, both of his friends were sociopaths, so Sebastian couldn't wonder why Jim was so promiscuous. Sherlock wasn't in the least, but they were two sides of the same coin. Sherlock was the balance and form while Jim was the blade and mace. Sebastian supposed that made him the wielder, if his sword had a mind of its own, of course. And if he likes to stab himself with it repeatedly. He wasn't sure where this metaphor was going.   
  
"Here. Give this to Watson," Sherlock instructed, handing him a pale envelope with 'John H. Watson' scripted on the front. Sebastian didn't want to know how he knew Watson's middle name.   
  
"What? No. You give it to him." Sebastian wanted absolutely nothing to do with this. Watson was a teammate, though they weren't close friends, and he was generally a good person. Sebastian wasn't going to help them do anything dubious towards him. He wouldn't stop it, but that was the whole sword thing again.   
  
"I can't." Sherlock sighed impatiently. Here came the explanation. "That dominate-confident behavior which is typically seen as alpha male behavior. If I appear too masculine, he will assume it is a 'prank'. Being too feminine will end the same. The letter itself is ambiguous. I need you to validate it. If I give it to him, it's confident and will make him nervous and unsure. I do not often associate myself with people like him. If you give it to him, he will take your presence as a confirmation that you wouldn't let any harm come to him and take the confession seriously."  
  
"Duh, Seb. Don't be so obtuse." Jim giggled, leaning back and resting on Sebastian's shoulder. Fuck. That probably had something to do with the class. He needed to pay more attention.   
  
"Can't you just act shy or something when you give it to 'im?" Sebastian nearly begged, even as he found himself moving to take the letter.   
  
"Feminine behavior. Acting androgynous is disconcerting to people like Watson. It's for the best that you do it."  
  
"Why don't you 'act' like yourself?" It wasn't like Sherlock was actively masculine or feminine. Sebastian wasn't even sure he was androgynous. Sherlock was malleable. It was no wonder he and Jim got along so well. That went back to the coin thing. Jim was both and Sherlock was neither. If there were any two people made for each other, it was Jim and Sherlock. Sebastian tried not to be jealous.   
  
"God, Seb. We don't want to scare John away," Jim scoffed. Sebastian spotted the minute, barely noticeable expression that crossed Sherlock's face. Then again, maybe he didn't need to be too jealous.   
  
"Alright. Fine." Sebastian tucked it into the pocket on his tablet to prevent it from getting crushed or burned in his trouser pocket. Sherlock and Jim spent the rest of the class using the inked pen on Sebastian's skin. He would have been upset, but rather than two guy friends who drew dicks on his arms, he had two friends who could complete complicated pieces of artwork. It would stain his skin for weeks, but at least he had a modern art statement of physics on one shoulder and the breakdown of chemicals on the other. The real reward was not having two bored sociopaths for a whole class.   
  
His next class was just with Sherlock. Sebastian was both glad and worried. Glad because it was chemistry and Sherlock guaranteed him a good grade. Worried because that meant Jim had chemistry without him and that likely meant explosions. There hadn't been any problem yet, but it was bound to happen eventually. He lounged beside Sherlock, letting him do most of the exciting work on his own. Well, 'let' actually meaning Sherlock didn't like him touching anything unless he was told to. Sebastian didn't mind.   
  
"Why do you keep pinning after Jim?" Sherlock mused, dropping a dubious looking liquid into a suspicious looking solid. Sebastian looked up from his tablet. "You know he'll deliberately hurt you if he ever found out. Not to mention your monogamous nature must make it displeasing to see Jim perform mating gestures with other people."  
  
"I'm not monogamous."  
  
"It means you prefer to be exclusive with your partner of choice."  
  
"I know what it means."   
  
"Then you wouldn't mind sharing Jim if he accepted your advances?" Sherlock glanced away from his experiment to look Sebastian in the face. Sebastian didn't answer. No; he wouldn't like that at all.   
  
"I don't mean to pry, I'm simply trying to understand behavior of people like you. Obsessors have a higher chance of committed a jealous based crime due to love. A view of a codependent relationship will help me understand what path I should pursue with Watson," Sherlock mused on as he dripped a few more chemicals into his compound. It began to expand rapidly, bubbling out of the beaker and suddenly crystallizing into a single, shiny mass.   
  
"Please stay on task, Mr. Holmes. I expect a solvent by the end of class,” the teacher called from the front of the room. He was ignored.   
  
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't experiment on me," Sebastian scoffed.   
  
"I'm not. I'm gathering data," Sherlock assured him as though that made it better. It didn't, actually. Not even in the slightest.   
  
"Yeah, well why don't you 'gather data' elsewhere?"  
  
"I can't. No one else shares a relationship like you. Besides, it's in my best interest to know your motives due to my likeness to Jim."  
  
"I'm not going to commit a crime towards either of you," Sebastian assured him with a grunt of disapproval.   
  
"I know. You're submissive. Jim would easily subdue you and big as you are, it would be easy for me to win a fight against you," Sherlock answered nonchalantly. That was comforting to Sebastian's ego, not that he didn't already know that. "But patterns are a valid source of information."  
  
"Could we not talk about this," Sebastian grumbled reluctantly. Grey-blue eyes stared at him with the piercing gaze of a Holmes. He offered a small shrug, letting Sebastian know he would likely return to this conversation later. Sherlock grabbed his wrist and held his hand out above the desk. Before Sebastian could stop him, a strange liquid was being dropped onto the back of his hand.   
  
"What the fuck! Ah!" It burned fiercely for several excruciating seconds and Sebastian clenched his hand as if it would stop. He smacked his fist against the tabletop viciously, startling the class already watching him. It stopped and Sebastian released his fingers. He tried to find his breath again, grinding his teeth in frustration. Sherlock examined the back of his hand.   
  
"It worked,” he announced carelessly. Sebastian glared at him. "An ink solvent. Perfectly safe to use on skin."  
  
"Safe?" Sebastian snapped. "That burned like fuck."  
  
"I said safe. Not painless," Sherlock corrected him. He turned to his tablet to scribble down whatever it was as the teacher hurried over.   
  
"Mr. Moran! Are you alright?" the older man grabbed his hand, searching for any damage and finding none. Sebastian was just glad it wasn't a lingering pain.   
  
"Yes,” he ground out.   
  
"I should suspend you for that, Mr. Holmes!"  
  
"I said it's fine," Sebastian snapped protectively.   
  
"It is not,” the man continued firmly, doing his best to hold his strict attitude.   
  
"Piss off," Sebastian growled, standing suddenly. Sherlock watched curiously and the rest of the class did the same. He was only sixteen and he was already taller than, well, everyone. Including the teacher. There was a moment of silence while he choose what to do. As it turned out, ignoring the problem was the answer. He turned away to return to his desk and Sebastian sat back down. He grabbed Sherlock around the collar, yanking him in close.   
  
"Don't. Experiment. On. Me."  
  
"I didn't. It's an ancient technical using the very basic active ingredients. It was an example, not a test." Sherlock always found loopholes, but he didn't so much exploit them than he just assumed that it was okay. It was so obvious to him, it didn't always occur to him that people didn't mention the small things because they weren't normal though.   
  
"I hate you," Sebastian growled. Sherlock smiled a little.   
  
Midday meal followed. Jim gladly launched himself at Sebastian in the middle of the hallway, hoisting himself onto the larger man's back and clinging there easily.   
  
"Sebby! My teacher's a cunt!" he complained loudly, squeezing his arms around the younger boy's throat. Sebastian grabbed his arm to steady himself and keep Jim from strangling him.   
  
"What happened this time?"  
  
"He said my essay was inappropriate," Jim scoffed. Sebastian reached back to grab Jim around the thighs, holding his weight effortlessly. Sherlock trotted alongside them.   
  
"Which version did you hand in?" Sebastian asked.   
  
"Mine," Jim huffed. "Your corrections were stupid."  
  
"Of course that was inappropriate. I told you," Sebastian sighed. Jim puffed his chest out, but ignored it.   
  
"Because he's a cunt," Jim insisted.   
  
"Yeah. He kind of is," Sherlock agreed.   
  
"Your essay was inappropriate, too," Sebastian insisted. Sherlock didn't answer either. Death was simply not a subject someone needed to diverse into. And Jim didn't need to curse so much in his. Sebastian kept a hand on Jim's thigh while he bought his lunch. Neither genius bothered, though. They never did and Sebastian had to buy another lunch for the food they would steal off of his. They trotted out to the field where Sebastian's teammates were eating and practicing. John Watson, the rugby captain; Gregory Lestrade, co-captain; along with Sally Donovan, Paul Dimmock, and Henry Knight the football captain. Sebastian was the overlap. Sherlock and Jim weren't close friends with any of the other jocks and the jocks typically ignored Jim and Sherlock.   
  
"This is so stupid," Jim complained as Sebastian dropped him on the bleachers. Sherlock seated himself in the grass, arm resting on the cool metal bench. "Sports are typically useless to the everyday person. I mean, if you're going to be a professional or join the army or something, fine; but how many people at this school are really going to pursue that career line?"  
  
"Three of 'em are trying for police," Sebastian offered, lounging against the bench and starting on his lunch and lunch cigarette. Jim picked out his crate.   
  
"I think Watson's going into medicine and Knight inherited his father's fortune already."  
  
"Stupid," Jim scoffed. Sherlock was inclined to agree. Even so, it was clearly amusing to watch the group play with a football, aiming more to maim each other than actually practice. Sherlock pressed a foot against Sebastian's knee, getting his attention instantly.   
  
"Now would be the ideal time,” he insisted. Jim tossed another walnut at his mouth, which Sherlock was less reluctant to eat than he usually was. Sebastian sighed irritably.  
  
"Now?" he demanded, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette and taking a quick drink from his soda can.   
  
"Yes," Sherlock answered curtly. Sebastian handed Jim his cigarette, places his food aside, and withdrew the letter from his tablet pocket. This wasn't going to go well, but he didn't have a choice, did he? Slowly, he began the tortuous walk to his team.   
  
Jim took a puff off of the cigarette before offering it to Sherlock who refused in order to keep a desired appearance for Watson. Jim giggled lowly.   
  
"What'd you write, anyways?"  
  


Sherlock & [John] & Greg

  
Moran's little friend bursted into laughter on the benches, spitting out the foul smoke in a huge puff. John stopped to watch, curious at the outburst. It wasn't unusual for Moran's friend, but it was still strange. Moran approached them and Greg tucked the oval ball under his arm.   
  
"Watson," Moran nodded to him. John hoped he wasn't trying to get out of practice again. His friends were bad influences. "My friend wanted me to give this ta you,” he murmured, not completely convinced of it himself, but still willing to hand the letter over. John accepted it kindly.   
  
"You're, uh, friend?" he asked nervously.   
  
"Sherlock," Moran assured him. Oh thank god. Holmes was far less worrying than Moriarty. John knew there were rumors that Moriarty liked to send passive aggressive letters to people that crossed him. Those people always left the school. Rumors that Moran confirmed.   
  
"Open it, then," Greg insisted.   
  
"I would suggest you do it in private," Moran suggested. John glanced toward the bleachers. Both of Moran's strange little friends were watching them closely. Sally scowled.   
  
"Why? Is it a love letter?" she huffed bitterly.   
  
"Yes," Moran informed simply. John blushed, much against his will.  
  
"What?" Sally gasped before he could. That wasn't good. John glanced at her slightly. She couldn't possibly blame him for that. He couldn't control who Holmes liked. Sally had no interest in him, but her best friend was infatuated with Holmes. They'd all sort of figured he was asexual or something.   
  
"I dunno." Moran shrugged. "I'm just delivering it,” he assured them before beginning back toward his friends. "See ya at practice."   
  
"It's got to be a joke," Paul insisted as they huddled around John. Everyone except Henry, of course, who was more interested it bouncing a football from knee to knee.   
  
"Holmes doesn't like anyone," Sally agreed.   
  
"Not necessarily. He could have always liked John. That would explain why he never responds to the love letters he gets. Too shy to do anything about it," Henry suggested helpfully. Greg snorted. Sally frowned her disapproval.   
  
"Holmes? Shy? I don't we're talking about the same person, mate,” she scoffed.   
  
"You judge too quickly. If he's socially inept and shy, that's probably how he tried to make friends. You react badly and he refuses to try again. Remember when he and Jim met?"  
  
"They got in a fistfight," John reminded him.   
  
"Well, before that. They speak, I dunno, the same language I guess. You probably did something to make him think you understand him," Henry explained, bringing his ball under his arm to approach his friends.   
  
"But he's a freak," Sally murmured, completely unconvinced.   
  
"He's kind of a twat, too," Paul added.   
  
"Yeah, but most of the school thinks he's a cute twat," Greg mused on. They all stared at the letter in John's hands, expecting him to open it. He wasn't. This was the sort of thing to be handled in private!   
  
"Well, whatever. I'll- uh, deal with it by myself, thank you," John assured them, folding it over once to shove in his back pocket. He glanced nervously towards Holmes, still watching him with impossibly blue eyes.   
  
"I say you ignore him like he does everyone else. That'll teach him," Sally scowled, crossing her arms over her chest bitterly. "Dino's been trying to get his attention for months and Holmes shrugs him off like nothing, the arsehole."  
  
"Let's agree to not tell him about this, then. Hmm?" Greg suggested pointedly. "We don't need him trying to pick a fight with John." That wasn't something John wanted at all and thankfully, they all nodded in agreement. Even Sally, reluctantly. Anderson would be really upset if he found out.   
  
When the bell rang, they all reluctantly headed in from the field in their small group. Anderson joined them at the door, being one of the many people at this school that refused to be athletic in any way.   
  
"Hi Mycroft," Greg smiled as they passed this year’s (and the last three year's) school president, his girlfriend, and the vice.   
  
"Good afternoon, Gregory," Holmes answered with a familiar smile. His five friends tried not to giggle and once they were out of ears reach of the president, Sally elbowed Greg in the side.  
  
"I think you should write a love letter to Holmes," she teased. Greg pushed her away with his shoulder, hurriedly undoing his combination to fetch his textbooks and shoved the rugby ball away.   
  
"Very funny. Ha bleedin' ha."  
  
"Oh, come off it. We all know you have a huge crush on him," Anderson teased as they all went about getting their own books. Henry, of course, being the odd one out again and not owning any actual textbooks.   
  
"One; it's not like that," Greg began, stacking two books in his arms, "two; he wouldn't go out with someone like me. And three; he has a bleedin' girlfriend, anyways."   
  
"No he doesn't," Henry assured him suddenly. "He's single."   
  
"Nu uh. That pretty girl is his girlfriend. They're always together," Greg insisted.   
  
"That's Anthea. She's on the board and she's just that; pretty. They're just for show." Henry, as well as being the football captain, easily juggled being on the school board as well. He helped plan the school outings and was fairly good friends with practically everyone. "And it's more likely he'd be dating Harry, anyways."  
  
"Why? Is he gay?" Greg asked a little too hopefully for 'it to not be like that'. Henry shook his head.   
  
"Not really. He's demisexual."  
  
"What?" Greg stared at him in confusion. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad yet.   
  
"It's like a cross between being asexual and pansexual, the attraction to all genders. He's only attracted to the person he likes," Henry explained, balancing his football in the crook of his knee while he opened his locker.   
  
"How do you know that?" John asked incredulously.   
  
"Anthea told me. I asked her if Mycroft would be interested in dating Greg."  
  
"You did what?!" Greg nearly dropped his books. Dimmock laughed.   
  
"You clearly like him," Henry shrugged, putting his ball away and picking up his tablet.   
  
"Well it doesn't matter because he doesn't like me," Greg huffed.   
  
"Not exactly," Henry murmured again. "Martin was asexual before we met,"  
  
"So Mycroft might change his mind-?"  
  
"Probably not. Martin's the kind of person that likes to find himself. I don't think Mycroft has ever not known who he was. But, that wasn't the point I was making. Of course he doesn't like you, therefore isn't attracted to you, because he doesn't know you. Just get to know him." Henry shrugged as if it were actually that easy. Greg frowned at him.   
  
"Why do you know so much about this stuff, anyways?" John mused curiously.   
  
"Psychology class. That and Martin's, well, poor Martin's a wreck," Henry sighed, though it was a strangely happy sigh as he thought about his boyfriend in any way.   
  
"Thanks Henry, but I think I'll keep it to myself," Greg mumbled. "He's like the government and I'm just an inspector."  
  
"What?" John couldn't help a giggle. Greg shrugged awkwardly.   
  
"I don't know. Don't call me on stuff like this,” he complained, following John and Paul to their next class. Their little group parted ways, quietly.   
  
"You might as well give it a shot," John suggested. He really didn't see the harm in it. Holmes was rather nice, at least nicer than his brother, and easily one of the smartest people in the school which was really saying something in a school full of intellectual geniuses. Greg grumbled a little, running a hand through his dark hair.   
  
"But he's cute and smart and rich. I mean, Henry's right. Mycroft's probably pursuing Harry Carrthurs. They're already friends, after all." Greg sighed. It was disconcerting to see his friend giving up so easily. He never gave up so easily.   
  
"Don't you think Holmes would already be dating him if he was so intent on it?" Paul reminded him.   
  
"His elections are always brutal. When he wants something, he takes it swiftly," John agreed, setting his books down on his desk beside Sarah. She smiled at him sweetly.   
  
"Yeah, but that means he doesn't want me," Greg pointed out, crashing on John's other side and dropping his head on his desk.   
  
"Because he doesn't know you," Paul reminded him.   
  
"What are you guys talking about?" Sarah asked curiously, wrapping an arm around John's and resting her head on his shoulder.   
  
"Greg's infatuation with the school president," Paul teased.   
  
"Just tell bleedin' everyone, why don't ya?"   
  
"Oh Greg. Everyone already knows." Sarah reached over to pat the back of his head soothingly. Greg groaned loudly.   
  
"Are we still going out tonight, John?" Sarah asked casually. John smiled.   
  
"Sure. After practice, hmm?" he suggested. She agreed with a small nod. John liked Sarah. She was kind and adorable and smart. However, he couldn't in all good faith say it would last. He went through girlfriends faster than he was proud of. They always left him, though, so he could hardly be blamed.   
  
John waited until his communications class to read his 'love note'. It probably wasn't even a love letter. Moran was just messing with him again. That was the only explanation. Henry sat next to him which made him a little more nervous about reading it. Not that Henry cared either way, actually. John swallowed as he gently opened it.   
_  
-Dear John,  
  
I apologize for being unable to speak to you face to face. I'm afraid your friends would discourage you from speaking to me, but I hope you'd be willing to give me a chance. I've admired you from afar for a long time, unable to help myself from attending all of your games and finding it impossible to not follow you with my eyes whenever you're in sight. I am disappointed that I missed my chance to ask you on a date while you were single, but every time I tried to approach you, my heart seized in my chest. I do not love you, that is a ridiculous idea for someone I haven't had the chance to enjoy time with, but given the chance, I know I would come to and perhaps, you would come to love me. I don't want to cause you distress, but I had to make my feelings known. If you'd care to speak with me, you know where to locate me. I hope you will.  
  
Love Sherlock Holmes-_  
  
John tried to keep his face the same color, but he could already feel the heat rising in his neck. He'd received plenty of love letters before, but this was something completely new. John's heart lumped up a little for reasons he didn't entirely understand. Sherlock was a prodigy, maybe a little misunderstood and a good bit mean, but he was still amazing. He was smart, he played violin like no one he had known, and absolutely gorgeous. John wasn't sure where he'd been hiding these thoughts, but they ambushed him from nowhere. John folded the letter back up and safely tucked it into his pocket.   
  
"So?" Henry asked curiously. John only shook his head, though, and Henry understood. He focused on his class as much as possible, but most of his mind was trying to figure what to do with this new information. He couldn't just drop everything. He shouldn't even be thinking about it.   
  
Greg met him in the hall to walk to their next class together. It was eerily quiet between them for much of the same reason.   
  
"I'm going to talk to Mycroft," Greg finally said out loud. John nodded in a bit of a stupor.   
  
"Uh. Yeah. I - I'm going to talk to Sherlock."  
  
"You are?" Greg answered incredulously.   
  
"What? Why? Do you think it's a bad idea?" John meet gazes with his friend. Greg held his hands up quickly.   
  
"No! Not at all! I just- maybe you should wait it out?" Greg suggested. "Just in case?"   
  
"Ah. You're right. No need to be brash." John nodded again, more to assure himself than Greg.   
  
"Right. Good. Good." Greg patted his shoulder firmly. "Okay. There's Mycroft. Wish me luck."  
  


[Mycroft] & Harry

  
"That still puts afternoon modern sculpting and young philosophers in the same room at the same time."   
  
"I don't suppose they could share, could they?"   
  
"I could ask them. I believe the sculptors are working on abstract pieces, however."  
  
"See if they could change to modeled work and ask the philosophy club if they wouldn't mind being used for conceptual pieces."  
  
"I'll see what I can do." Harry smiled at the president kindly. Mycroft made note of the changes in his tablet and sorted out the coloured mess of his schedule with a few taps of his stylus. Harry was his best tool in convincing people to do as they were told. Anthea was his best tool for making sure they were enforced and keeping track of school rumors and word. She was always on her mobile. It was the reason he always ran with them. Harry straightened his tie, the same matching blue and gold Mycroft wore today. Fortunately, the school didn't require uniform. That was a whole other level of stress Mycroft wasn't interested in pursuing. Generally, the school population was good about dressing properly. He and Harry shared a dorm anyways, so it was easy to colour-coordinate outfits.   
  
"Gregory Lestrade is approaching," Anthea murmured suddenly, though she hadn't looked up from her phone whatsoever.   
  
"Thank you, Anthea."  
  
"Hi Mycroft. Harry. Uh-" Lestrade glanced at Anthea who paid him no attention.   
  
"Anthea," Harry chuckled softly.   
  
"Oh. I'm sorry. I thought - nevermind." Lestrade shook it off. Anthea's name was constantly an area of confusion around the school.   
  
"Hello Gregory," Mycroft greeted and Harry smiled his own. Lestrade glanced toward him, then Anthea nervously. He almost appeared as if he weren't going to say anything else.   
  
"I - Uh. I was just wondering if you need help with anything?" he offered with a sudden found strength. Mycroft was aware he wasn't actually offering help. Even if he was, of course, Mycroft had no reason to accept it. He wasn't entirely sure what he was suggesting though. Mycroft wanted to assume it was a way to spend time together, but it was so awkwardly phrased it was difficult to be sure. Harry raised his tablet a little for Mycroft alone to see.   
  
Yes.   
  
"Yes?" That wasn't even an appropriate response. Mycroft didn't glare at his friend, but he didn't need to for Harry to know he was annoyed.   
  
"Oh! You do?" Lestrade lost his strength all at once. Dammit, Harry.   
  
"I suppose." Mycroft glanced down at his open schedule in order to find somewhere to put him. Harry gladly helped him by reaching over with his stylus. Because he was a twat. "Yes. Friday afternoon, hm? After classes I need to evaluate the building and yard for yearly management. I could use another set of eyes and some company." Mycroft offered a small smile.   
  
"Sure. I'd be happy to." Lestrade smiled, taking a step back. "I'll see you then." He left calmly, but it was clearly it had made his day. Not so much Mycroft's. It was unneeded and only put more trouble on him. He stared at Harry blandly.   
  
"What? He's adorable." Harry shrugged, bringing his lip between his teeth. Anthea rolled her eyes, mumbling something about Harry's libido. "Don't worry. I'll come with you. Make sure he doesn't jump you."   
  
"Thanks," Mycroft answered sarcastically. "And I'll just have to make sure you don't 'jump' him."   
  
"It'll be fun," Harry insisted, patting his back stiffly. Mycroft calmed himself with a steady breath. He would like to say Harry meant well, but he really didn't. He knew Mycroft wasn't interested in pursuing a relationship with anyone right now and yet he still insisted on trying his patience at every turn. They were good friends, though, and he knew Harry didn't mean any harm. He didn't mean well, but it wasn't malicious.   
  
"Home economics wants to host a bake sale for the school. They'll be using out of pocket money for start up." And it was right back to business.   
  
"They're free to, but be sure they remember to remain in the school's nutrition guidelines."   
  
"Of course. Where should they set up? I wouldn't suggest the cafeteria. It's been overly crowded the last few days due to free block and computer skills switching times."  
  
"Set them up at the doors during and after supper and during the rugby game as well."   
  
"Approaching your brother, Mycroft."  
  


Sherlock & [Sebastian] & Jim

  
"Do you think he's read it yet?" Jim giggled. "If he doesn't answer, you know you'll just have to send him more. They've got to be more intimate than that, too,” he insisted excitedly, smoke exiting with his ever-amused laugh.   
  
"I already have. They're ready to be delivered as needed," Sherlock smirked, taking the cigarette for a puff. Sebastian's hand was suddenly in his face, smothering the end of the cancer stick in his palm and gripping his hand tightly.   
  
"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed passively. "Are you three smoking again?"  
  
"Hullo Mycroft," Jim purred delicately. "We weren't doin' nuthin',” he promised, crossing his fingers over his chest.   
  
"Liar," Anthea stated instantly. Jim stuck his tongue out at her. Mycroft only sighed though.   
  
"Mr. Moran. Not expelled I see,” he added on. Sebastian raised Sherlock's hand to his mouth, giving it an absent kiss.   
  
"Couldn't stay away," Sebastian assured him, catching cold grey-green eyes with aggressive green ones.   
  
"Stop loitering around the blind spot, boys. That's dangerous," Harry tacked on as they left again. Sherlock waited until they were gone before letting out his mouthful of smoke. Sebastian released his hand, shaking his burn out and wiping his palm on his jeans.   
  
"Your brother's such a twat," Sebastian murmured.   
  
"I dunno. I think he's kind of hot," Jim teased, swishing his hips around. "Lemme read the letters you wrote. Did you make them creepy?"  
  
"No," Sherlock answered, flexing his probably bruised fingers. "They're increasingly dirty though. Sexual things seem to stimulate better responses."  
  
"Sexual how?" Sebastian dared to ask.   
  
"My sexual experience is made up entirely of your smut and Jim's stories, so," Sherlock didn't need to finish. Oh god, this was going to go horribly, horribly wrong. Sebastian had already allowed it to start (which was always his mistake) and now all he could do was watch everything implode.   
  
"Oh my god. That's going to be brilliant, love!" Jim giggled uncontrollably. "I need a fucking camera or something for this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT; whoops. Made a small mistake with Mycroft's sexuality. I'm really sorry. Labels are hard to keep straight. Mycroft is not pansexual [the attraction to all genders] he is demisexual [attraction only to those who he has a deep emotion connection with]. I'm really, really sorry for that. I've fixed it now, of course.


	2. A Strange Device

[Pros] and [Cons]

of Breathing

 

Chapter Two: A Strange Device

 

Jim & [Sebastian] & Sherlock

  
Sometimes, Sebastian just didn’t know what to do. One of those times was entering Jim’s and Sherlock’s dorm to the sound of giggling. Jim giggled all the time, it was normal. Sherlock giggling was a whole other level of problem.    
  
“Basher! Hullo Basher!” Jim giggled loudly, completely oblivious to the blood dribbling above his lip and the volume of his voice.    
  
“Basher!” Sherlock howled back. “Se-basher!” Sebastian slammed the door closed behind him, hurriedly locking it and hoping dearly no one had heard anything.    
  
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”   
  
“Calm down," Jim giggled, pushing himself to his feet and stumbling toward their room's desk. He picked up a little baggie, gladly shaking it for Sebastian to see.   
  
"Have some. It's good,” he insisted. Sebastian snatched it from him, angrily throwing it in the bin. Sherlock stared at him wide eyed.    
  
"Don't! Basher!" he complained, managing to get to his feet to try to save his precious drug. Sebastian shoved him back effortlessly. Jim got out of the way.    
  
"Lame," Jim groaned, grabbing Sherlock around his head. "I'll get some more later. Let him be a spoilsport." Sebastian knew Jim was perfectly capable of getting more, but that didn't stop him from throwing it out. He knocked the loose dust and miscellaneous items into the bin and wastes no time flushing them. Sherlock had a problem, surprisingly. Jim wouldn't get high by himself, Sebastian knew this for a fact, but he didn't need to when Sherlock was always more than happy to. Sherlock, on the other hand, would take to cocaine when he was bored, or stressed, or particularly upset; it didn't matter if he was alone. When he returned, both boys were gathered on Jim's bed, locked in a drug induced, heated embrace. Also not unusual and also leaving Sebastian unsure of what to do.    
  
He decided on what the majority of his brain was telling him; drag them apart because Jim's yours. It didn't even matter if it was initiated by Jim, it always was. Sebastian grabbed the small male and forcibly removed from from on top of Sherlock with lots of disappointed noises.    
  
"Basher, you cunt. Stop," Jim whined loudly, flailing about in hopes of escaping. "I wanna fuck."    
  
"Leave Sherlock alone. You know he isn't in his right mind." Sebastian dropped Jim on the second bed and quickly regretting turning his back on the other druggie. Sherlock wrapped his long arms around his waist, affectionately nuzzling his back and his thin hands fondling with Sebastian's trousers.    
  
"Sherlock!"   
  
"You're so wound up," Sherlock groaned. "Let us help." Sebastian removed the arms around his waist but he was greatly outnumber by limbs. Jim took his chance and grabbed at the front of Sebastian's trousers, making Sebastian release one of Sherlock's wrist to grab Jim's.    
  
"Fucking stop! You two are bleedin' wrecked."    
  
"I know you wanna fuck me, Basher. Stop fighting," Jim growled seductively, easily working with Sherlock to make a pair of hands between them. Sebastian wasn't even sure why he tried. This happened every time. He needed to learn to just walk away. They'd sober up on their own eventually. But no; he had to feel required to make sure they didn't die. Sebastian snared both of Sherlock's tiny wrist in one hand and grabbed Jim around the neck, shoving him against the bed.    
  
"Shh.” He tried to calm them delicately. "Breath."   
  
"Let go! Basher!" Jim squirmed viciously, trying to break free but Sherlock was easily sedated. Sebastian knew that was a lie. Sherlock would never be drugged enough to lie badly. As soon as he let go, Sherlock would get the advantage.    
  
"You bastard! I will burn you!" Jim was small, though, and Sebastian was thankful for that. He finally tired himself out after a while, breathing heavy and laying limp with a pout on his face. Sebastian slowly released him, cautious about the backlash, but Jim stayed still. He was re-charging, unfortunately. Sebastian clung to Sherlock's wrists with one hand and used the other to find the tape in the drawer.    
  
He had to let Sherlock go in order to tape Jim's hands to the headboard properly. Jim wormed weakly, but Sebastian had made an art of dealing with the pair of druggies. Sherlock had managed to get his hands into Sebastian's trousers, but thankfully not much further than that. Sherlock received the same treatment on the opposite side of the bed. Sebastian let out a relieved sigh, glad he had wrapped up the situation quickly. Jim was already trying to find a way out, but Sebastian knew he wouldn't. Sherlock seemed puzzled by the idea of tape, watching the silver wad in bemusement.    
  
Sebastian threw a blanket over the pair, taking the one off of Jim's bed to cover up with. He sat on the floor with his back against the bed, the bin nearby in case one of them needed it. He really needed to watch them more carefully. If he could find out where Jim kept getting it, he would, but he wasn't too keen on telling. He really didn't want them to die. It was disappointing to know neither of them would care if he suddenly disappeared.    
  


Sarah & [John] & Greg

  
John would always enjoy a date with a pretty girl. At least, that was what he told himself when he found himself thinking about a date with Holmes. That wasn't fair, though. He was pretty, too. Sarah was simple, clearly a better choice. They could have fish and chips with nice conversation and be perfectly happy. Holmes wasn't exactly a conversationalist. John forced himself to focus on his date.    
  
"What's wrong, John?" Sarah asked softly, reaching over to pat his hand. John smiled.    
  
"Yeah. Sorry. I'm just thinking about Greg." John wasn't sure why he lied. He had no need to. "He got himself a date with the president."    
  
"That's great! I'm glad he decided to give it a shot," Sarah insisted.    
  
"Yeah, but he's really excited. I've never seen him so excited for a date before. What if he gets hurt?"   
  
"He's had this crush since Mycroft got to the school and kicked his arse in rugby. If he gets turned down, he'll just pick himself up and try again,” she insisted. John chuckled, nodding his agreement. Greg never gave up. "Let's focus on us now, okay?"   
  
"Yeah. Sorry." John smiled nervously.    
  
"Don't be. You're a good friend, John," Sarah promised, leaning over to touch a kiss to his lips. Normally, he'd be thrilled, but today it was unpleasant. John had always been attracted to girls. Always! But now, his body was betraying him and he didn't know what to do. The more he thought about, the more he realized he paid more attention to Sherlock than he thought. They took a lot of their basic classes together; English, Physical education, Language, and History. As well as Medical Science and they had lunch break at the same time. It was no wonder Sherlock had a crush on him.    
  
Greg was right. John was glad he had waited. He'd politely decline and never think about this again. He tried to focus on his date again but it was difficult. He had too much on his mind at the moment and he was sure Sarah noticed. If she did, she was being nice about not saying anything about it. When their date was finally over, he escorted her back to her dorm with a bit of doorway snogging before returning to his own. He could hear ruckus coming from across the hall which wasn't too unusual considering it was coming from Moriarty and Holmes' dorm. He ignored it and the ideas that creeped into his head. Moriarty was a notorious playboy who could easily get himself into whoever's pants of his choosing (save President Holmes') but it had never occurred to him that Holmes might be just as bad. With that thought came ideas that John would have normally had about females that were or weren't his current girlfriend.    
  
John rushed into his dorm. Greg was stretched over his own bed with a book on his face. John wasn't sure if he was asleep, but studying clearly wasn't going well. He should write Holmes a letter back so he wouldn't have to do it face to face. It was a little cowardly, but John was trying to keep this situation between only those who needed to know. He'd be lucky if Anderson didn't give him the cold shoulder for the rest of the year. Admittedly, Anderson wasn't exactly the most friendly person to begin with.    
  
"How'd your date go?" Greg muffled from under his book.    
  
"Good. Why?" Greg never asked him how his dates went. It was weird. John tossed his keys into the bowl on their shared desk and began to change into pajamas for the night.    
  
"I don't know how to go on a date with a guy," Greg explained in a dead tone. John wasn't sure what the connection was there, but he was sure there was one of some sort.    
  
"Are you asking me or -?" John wasn't exactly an expert on the subject.    
  
"I should go ask Henry?" Greg asked, pulling the book from his face to look upside down at his roommate. John nodded awkwardly.    
  
"Yeah. You should,” he murmured, tossing his clothes into the hamper for later washing. Greg sighed, swinging himself upright and tossing his book aside on the bed.    
  
"Oh. Here. This came under the door for you. Another letter from Holmes, you lucky dog,” he teased, stretching himself to the bedside table and extending it out lazily with a pair of fingers. John wasn't sure he wanted it. In fact, he was positive he didn't want it. He took it anyways, of course, sitting on the edge of his bed before gently tearing it open.    
  
He didn't want it. He wished he hadn't opened it.    
  
"Well?" Greg asked curiously. John didn't answer.    
  
-I know I may have given the wrong impression in the beginning, but please give me a chance. You must be worried I won't be able to satisfy you like your girlfriends, but I promise that will not be the case. If you're worried I'd tell people about us, I won't if that's what you want. I know you must be worried what people think with you being a star rugby player. If you must, you could still date whatever girlfriends you want. Even if I were only your experiment, I'd be happy.-   
  
It was worse than he thought. John wasn't sure how he had managed to go so long without realizing Holmes was completely infatuated with him. He had to let him down gently. He had to, but he wasn't sure if he could. If his earlier thoughts hadn't done anything, this sure did. He wasn't sure he could even manage to be in the same room with Holmes now. Not without thinking about this. He was suggesting John /use/ him! Not only was that a terrible thing to do, and John would never dream of it, but Holmes' ego had to be painfully low to even suggest a thing. Maybe all the talking he did was just a cover up to protect himself after all. Henry was right and he was just too shy to have proper conversation and his confidence was too low to try.    
  
John was torn between feeling bad for him and being really confused. He wasn't going to consider it just because of this. He wasn't gay. John didn't want to think about it. This was ridiculous. He was dating Sarah right now anyways.    
  
"John?" Greg asked suspiciously. John looked up suddenly, remembering he wasn't alone with his thoughts.    
  
"It's nothing. Henry, yeah?" John decided he probably needed to talk with Henry too; discreetly, of course.    
  
"Uh. Yeah. I'll go do that."   
  


Martin & [Henry] & Greg

  
"Douglas is just a twat, Martin. Don't listen to him." Henry had always loved chatting with Martin. Though he lived all the way in Fitton, they had a good relationship. It had started out as being pen pals in primary school and had evolved into more once they met. Martin, and his love of flying, came down every break he got and Henry gladly paid. Martin was the whole reason he wanted to be a psychologist. Not because he wanted to /help/ Martin, there was nothing wrong with him, but because he was such fascinating person. Henry wanted to know why.    
  
"Martin. Please. I'm not going to leave you no matter what Douglas says. Douglas is just upset because he lacks the skill required to form real romantic attachments or bonds." Henry shared a dorm with one of the rugby players, but Sebastian never stayed in the room. His bed was just as unused as it had been when he got here and save for a few of his things in the wardrobe, no one would even think he lived here. Sebastian had an unhealthy attachment to his best friend, but not even Henry would mention that. He liked the way his face was now, thanks very much. Still, it meant he was free to catch on the phone with Martin for as long as he liked without having to worry about bothering anyone. That didn't mean they didn't bother him, though. He ignored the first knock in order to talk more with his boyfriend, but that never deters them does it?   
  
"Hold on, Martin." Henry didn't actually take the phone away from his face, Martin was a little paranoid at the moment and Henry didn't want to give him any reason to doubt.    
  
"Ah. Sorry Henry," Greg apologized immediately, spotting the mobile against his face. "Didn't know it was your date time."   
  
"It's not important then?" Henry asked hopefully. Greg put on a face that insisted he wasn't sure but would really like it to be. Henry sighed softly, moving out of the way to let the other in.    
  
"Thanks. Hi Martin!"   
  
"It's just Greg. The one that likes the ginger one? That's him."   
  
"Bleedin' everyone!"   
  
"I'll put you on speaker, okay?" Henry placed the phone down on his desk before resting on the edge of the bed and giving Greg the 'go ahead' nod.    
  
"Er. I- I kind of need dating advice."    
  
"Uh. John's way better at dating advice," Henry reminded him instantly.    
  
"For Mycroft," Greg added on quickly.    
  
"You asked him out?"   
  
/"Congratulations."/   
  
"Thanks. And sorta, I guess. He asked me to help him do some inspecting of the building and he doesn't actually need my help, so it has to be a date, right?" Greg insisted. Henry wasn't sure he liked the sound of this. Mycroft rarely accepted help, let alone asked for it. Harry was probably in the middle of this. However, it was unlikely Greg would get to Mycroft without having to go through Harry first anyways.    
  
"Alright. Well, it's not a date-date, so don't worry about doing anything yet. Go on the date, chat him up a little, don't try to make any moves on him, and then I'll see what he says."    
  
"That's it?"   
  
"Mycroft likes simple pleasures. He probably wouldn't respond well if you did anything else. You don't want to embarrass yourself, do you?"   
  
"Not really," Greg agreed reluctantly.    
  
"Besides, it's not actually a date. It might be a date to you, but it's definitely not to Mycroft," Henry assured him. Greg frowned a little. "Just get to know him, Greg."   
  
"I know, I know. Everyone keeps telling me. I'm just worried is all. What if he's actually dating Harry?" Greg sighed softly. Henry could see how nervous he was, but he was nervous for the wrong reasons.    
  
"Just try to make friends with Harry. He's Mycroft's best friend, after all. It'll be good," Henry assured him. "Harry's more social, anyways."    
  
"Yeah. Thanks, Henry. Sorry for bothering. Sorry Martin."    
  
/"It's okay."/ Henry smiled fondly. Martin always had to be so nice. It was adorable. Greg quietly left and Henry returned to his date.    
  
/"You're such a good friend."/   
  
"Like I said. Douglas is just a twat, Martin. And Arthur's a fine friend, he's just not very helpful that's all."   
  


Anthea & [Mycroft] & Harry

  
"I really need to do something about Sherlock," Mycroft murmured, mostly to himself but as always, it was nice to have Harry listening. Anthea was listening, but she didn't particularly care to give helpful advice. Good advice, but not helpful. Harry held up a pair of ties before the wardrobe, examining their likeness for tomorrow.    
  
"You could be unbiased like you're supposed to be and bloody expel him already," Harry scoffed. Mycroft looked over his shoulder, arching a brow at his roommate pointedly. Harry glanced at him and chuckled. "I'm just joking, for god's sake. You need to lighten up."   
  
"I'll remember that the next time to make things more stressful for me," Mycroft assured him, returning to his desk and his leisurely book. Harry hooked the pair of ties over the mirror.    
  
"You're still complaining about that date with Lestrade? It won't be that bad Mycroft. Maybe you'll like him."   
  
"It's not a date, thought knowing the normal occurrence of the rest of my age group, he probably does think it is, and I'm not some wing man for you. If you're so interested, you date him. It wouldn't be beneficial to anyone, but that hasn't stopped you before."    
  
"Relationships are not for the benefit, Mycroft," Harry sang.    
  
"I disagree, but I also digress. Date or not, not, you know I dislike having more work than necessary," Mycroft reminded him, turning the page or his book. It was easy for him to concentrate on both and lack in neither.    
  
"But he's helping you."    
  
"And I'll have to check his work because he doesn't know what he's doing."    
  
"Or you could give him the benefit of the doubt."   
  
"And be let down."   
  
"Your brother has sent two love notes to John Watson," Anthea interrupted suddenly. Both boys looked to her incredulously.    
  
"Sherlock?" Harry insisted. "Sherlock Holmes? Is that even physically possible?"    
  
"Physically; yes. Logically; no." Mycroft scowled. Sherlock had to be up to something. He couldn't expect his brother to just form a crush out of nowhere. Actually, that was unfortunately all too possible. It was possible Sherlock's naturally suppressed human instincts were getting the best of him. No; Unlikely. It was also possible that Sherlock just happened to meet someone he liked. Mycroft didn't trust him, however, no matter what it was.    
  
"Thank you, Anthea. Let me know if it continues."    
  
"The apocalypse is coming," Harry giggled. "Your brother's in love."   
  
"Unlikely."   
  


Sebastian & [Sherlock] & John

  
Sherlock awoke with a sneeze. Instantly, he was aware he was tied down to the bed again. He really needed to tell Sebastian that it was unnecessary to tie him up. Cocaine didn't affect him the same way it did Jim. It made Jim horny, angry, squirmy, and on some occasions, bitty. A sober Jim was insistent on what he wanted, so it was only natural that a high Jim would get whatever his foggy mind wanted, even if he would later decide that these would have been bad ideas. He understood Sebastian tying Jim up.    
  
Sherlock, on the other hand, never got 'foggy'. He knew exactly what he was doing and why he was doing it and he would never do something he thought would be 'bad'. He knew Sebastian was in love with Jim, but it wasn't Sherlock's fault he wouldn't confess and Jim wouldn't accept. If he absolutely has to lose his virginity, he wasn't opposed to the idea of it being Jim. He would prefer it, actually. As far as Sebastian went, Sherlock wouldn't have actually done anything to him. He was distracting him in order to prevent him from tying them up again. Admittedly, he could have found another way to do that, but he also had a habit of following Jim's lead when high.    
  
He pulled weakly at the tape, grimacing at the thought of the sticky residue on his wrist. Jim appeared before him, his favorite little switchblade in hand. Illegal switchblade, but it wasn't as if Jim actually cared about stuff like that. He freed Sherlock's hands with a few choice cuts, careful not to nick his hands, and returned the blade to Sebastian's pocket. Sebastian was still asleep in the uncomfortable position on the floor. He was always so concerned about their lives, Sherlock didn't quite understand.    
  
Neither Sherlock nor Jim had a very good grasp on their mortality. Jim would fight tooth and nail for his life, but only because he'd rather sting himself than be killed. Sherlock was indifferent to the idea. It was inevitable and therefore, he wouldn't concern himself with it. Sebastian was wasting his time. Jim kicked Sebastian in the shoulder, knocking him over and causing the boy to sit up suddenly.    
  
Sebastian stared at them, clearly trying to decide if they were sober yet. Sherlock peeled the tape off of his wrist, disposing of it on the ground. He had a minor headache, but nothing he couldn't deal with for the rest of the day. He made a mental list of things he would accomplish; Seduce Watson, finish the piece he was working on, assure his brother he wasn't doing anything he wasn't supposed to be, make Sebastian take his drug test if he had to, chat up Henry and Greg in the typical 'does my crush like me? What does he like' conversation, and decide the best route for his experiment when Jim was in a better mood.    
  
"Ah. Fuckin' hell." Sebastian stood, rubbing his lower back pointedly. He had obviously injured himself by sleeping on the ground like that. Then again, he always did. Sherlock didn't understand why he didn't just sleep in the other bed. It was far more comfortable and it wasn't as if he has to be  /right/ there all night. Sherlock wrapped his hands around Sebastian's shoulders and before he could complain, he jerked back, forcing Sebastian's spine to flex backwards when he was clearly leaning forward.    
  
Sebastian let out a string of in sequential curses, but when they subsided, it was clear he felt better.    
  
"Thanks,” he grumbled. Sherlock didn't offer any confirmation of having heard him.    
  
"God, Seb. I can't believe you flushed /all/ of it. That was some really good stuff," Jim moaned, beginning to undressed from his wrinkled clothing. Sebastian obliged to look away.    
  
"Stop buying it and I'll stop throwing it away,” he suggested as he always did and never was heard. Sherlock patted out his own clothes, deciding they were worthy for breakfast.    
  
"Coming?" Sherlock asked pointedly. Sebastian glanced into the bathroom after Jim, but nodded and followed. It was curious to watch the two interact. Jim was completely oblivious to Sebastian's feelings and Sebastian was all too aware he was in love with someone who would sell his own parents for a quick buck. No one wanted them, unfortunately for Jim.    
  
"A-ah." John stared at him from across the hall. Sherlock made an instant choice.    
  
"Morning,” he greeted, only making John blush fiercely. He'd read the letters, then.    
  
"Uh. M-morning,” he answered. Sebastian gave a mild grunt as a greeting, still fairly sore and therefore, agitated. Good. Sherlock began down the hall towards the exit and Sebastian followed. John clearly had to go the same way.    
  
"Sorry 'bout last night," Sherlock murmured. Sebastian glared at him.    
  
"Oh no. It was fuckin' fantastic,” he answered sarcastically. John wouldn’t hear it as sarcastic though. "I just /love/ having to tie you down to keep you and Jim away from each other. I fuckin' swear, you two will maim each other one day." A little out of context, but John was in the mindset of the sexual letter he'd been sent. He would connect it into something sexual because he was already thinking about it.    
  
"Jim's gentler than you think," Sherlock assured him. Sebastian scoffed, but didn't answer. That much was true, however. Jim picked and choose when he wanted to be nice. After they has their initial physical fight, Jim hadn't dared to be violent toward him again. It was an unspoken agreement to their intelligence. In the chance they argued on something, they wouldn't fight. It was counterproductive. Anything that couldn't be fixed with logical arguments was won with lying, cheating, and general deviousness. They had yet to have a fight that required their full attentiveness mostly due to the fact that neither of them earned anything from fighting one another.    
  
Jim wasn't gentle towards Sebastian because he was huge and stupid. He couldn't be patient enough to be nice to him and Sebastian could handle the violence he dished out. If Sebastian retaliated, Jim would stop being physical with him. He'd also likely make Sebastian's life hell, but he couldn't have both. Sherlock knew well that Sebastian showed masochistic tendencies and even though he desired to dominate Jim, he would quickly find that he didn't like a submissive Jim. So, Jim would continue to abuse Sebastian, who would let him, and when Jim found out about his crush, Jim would abuse him more, but ultimately accept Sebastian as his lover because Jim wasn't a fool.    
  
Sherlock was fascinated by being able to watch himself. In fact, he was sure the whole reason he wasn't like Jim was because of Jim.    
  
"S-Sherlock," John called suddenly. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder and Sebastian did the same. "Sorry. I - got your letters. I'm sorry I haven't answered yet."    
  
"I was willing to wait a week before deciding you weren't interested," Sherlock lied. He would have only pursued John harder.    
  
"Oh." John was surprised he was so rational. That wasn't surprising. "Well I - I'm sorry. I'm straight, Sherlock."   
  
"I am aware,” Sherlock answered simply. John was stunned.    
  
"I - Then you understand I can't return your feelings?" he tried nervously.    
  
"You would have, if you weren't 'straight'?" Sherlock knew it was a loaded question, but John clearly didn’t.    
  
"I- I guess I would have thought about it," John admitted, swallowing thickly. There was something wrong, Sherlock noted. John wasn't responding correctly.    
  
"Then you did think about it,” he insisted. John had to take a moment to understand what was happening. Sherlock was backing him into a corner, of course.    
  
"I'm straight," John repeated a little more firmly. Sherlock turned his attention away.    
  
"That's nice,” he murmured, leaving a very confused and be fumbled John in the hallway. Sebastian glared at him.   
  
"I wish you'd stop fucking with people like that,” he grumbled. Sherlock grabbed his hand, tangling their fingers.    
  
"Why? Because I'm making him question himself and his ideas? Isn't that a good thing?" Sherlock insisted. "Wouldn't you like it if Jim did this? Not just to 'fuck' with you and everyone else, but actually honestly held your hand?" Sebastian yanked his hand away suddenly.    
  
"No."   
  
"Liar. Making people think makes them better. You don't make Jim think so he won't change," Sherlock assured him, taking Sebastian's hand again. "I make Jim think. We run off each other. We're a pair. You're the odd one out, Sebastian. Jim would destroy you without me and you know it." Sebastian unwillingly swallowed, proving him right.    
  
"So?" he finally growled, not even trying to escape Sherlock's grip.    
  
"So you're special. You are obsessed. You think and you know. You know Jim doesn't understand you have a limit; a breaking point. You know that it's entirely possible that he will push you too far and you will break; maybe physically, maybe emotionally. It's the risk of loving a sociopath but you never change your mind; never get better. You are the perfect match to Jim, not me as you seem to think. With you, it's the story of the rock and the balloon," Sherlock explained to the best of his ability. Sebastian didn't always understand.    
  
"Jim would float away without you and you would hit the bottom without Jim. Balance; safety. Jim and I are the sword and the shield. An immovable object that meets an unstoppable force. Destruction, oblivion, impossibility. One day, we will destroy each other and we are both far too aware of it. No matter what happens, no matter how long we will have been apart, we will be the end of one another. It is was an inevitably that we silently agreed to when we met."   
  
"I hate how you talk when you're coming down," Sebastian grumbled, holding the door to the cafeteria open for him.    
  
"We all know stories don't have happy endings, Sebastian. Don't pretend otherwise." Sherlock hummed quietly, examining the crowd and making small observations. Boring.    
  
"Stop trying to psyche me out. It's not going to work." Sebastian shoved him forward pointedly, directing him to gathering breakfast. Sherlock helped him, but just barely.    
  
"I wasn't trying to. It was a compliment."    
  
"Don't compliment Watson like that."   
  
"Duly noted."   
  


[Greg] & John

  
"What's wrong?" Greg asked as John sat across from him with his breakfast. John had been acting a little strange ever since he got Holmes' love letter. It wasn't as if he hadn't gotten love letter before, even from guys. The school was completely unbiased to sexuality allowing the students to work freely and explore happily. Greg was curious as to what Holmes could have possibly written to make his friend react in such a way.    
  
"I just had a chat if Sherlock in the hall," John admitted, staring at his food in confusion. Greg tried to move into his line of vision but John didn't respond.    
  
"So what happened?" he insisted, trying to get more out of John. Greg really wanted to help him, but John had always kept everyone at a certain distance.    
  
"I - don't know- actually," John murmured. "I think- I think I just told him I'd consider it."    
  
"What? Why?" That sounded like a terrible idea! Holmes wasn't someone to take lightly. Not only because his two friends were vengeful and dangerous but because Holmes himself was self-destructive, undriven, and mean! The exact opposite of his brother in every way except for intelligence. Greg had tried to be friends with him once, when they were paired together on a project. Holmes had gotten him the best grade in the class, but not without being utterly rude and dismissive through the whole thing. Greg preferred they stay acquaintances.    
  
"Not on purpose!" John answered swiftly. "He - he talked me into it somehow. I don't know. It was weird." He sighed, pushing his plate away and putting his head down. Greg arched a brow suspiciously.    
  
"The unfortunate part is that I believe you." Greg scoffed. That sounded like a Holmes thing. It had to be hereditary too, because Mycroft was perfectly capable of talking anyone into doing anything.    
  
"I don't like him," John said suddenly, very defensive and upset for no clear reason. Greg put his hands up quickly.    
  
"Never said you were, mate. You're as straight as they come." Greg chuckled, light heartedly teasing his friend. John forced a smile, but he didn't seem to enjoy it.    
  
"Thanks Greg." John hummed softly, calming himself down a little.    
  
"And you know, no one cares if you're not," Greg added in. John glared at him.    
  
"But I am. I'm straight Greg."   
  
"Okay, okay. Just sayin' is all. Maybe you could get two birds with one stone? If you set Anderson up with Holmes, he won't pin after you and Anderson would be a twat when he finds out," Greg suggested, picking grapes off John's plate. John arched a brow appreciatively.    
  
"That's brilliant, actually. How would I even begin to do that, though? Sherlock would realize something was wrong immediately."   
  
"Ask him to hang out with you, then you hang out with Anderson. It puts them in close proximity so you can act as the wingman," Greg explained, smiling at his own genius. John thought about it.    
  
"This is a terrible idea."   
  
"But it'll work."


	3. Drowning Lessons

[Pros] and [Cons]

of Breathing

Chapter Three: Drowning Lessons

Sally & [John] & Anderson

“Hey, Dino, can we talk?” John motioned rather awkwardly with his hands. He wasn’t completely sure how he was supposed to be going about something like this. He didn’t want to appear rude or mean towards Sherlock, but he really wanted to nip this in the arse before it got out of hand. Anderson glanced up to him a little, looking away from his book curiously. Sally shot John a glare.

“Sure. ‘bout what?” Anderson answered with a weary curve of the brow. John decided that this was a bad idea and Greg had no idea what he was talking about. On the other hand, he had received another note from Sherlock, making three in two days, and this one was even worse. That was surprising, of course, he was sure they would get gradually worse until he did something about it. He wasn’t even sure there was anything he could do about it. Sherlock wasn’t just going to give up.

“About Holmes. Sherlock?” John suggested casually. Anderson seemed to lighten up just a little.

“Okay,” he answered with an air of cautiousness.

“Uh. Well,” John made sure he was a precautionary step back, just in case his non athletic friend suddenly decided to swing at him, “he seems to have taken a liking to me. Which I don’t actually want, before you jump to any conclusions. But since he’s put me in this position anyways, I thought- I could help you and him get together?” It was worth a shot, anyways. Anderson stared at him for several long seconds, clearly trying to make some sense of what had just happened.

“Why?” he finally asked. Sally mimicked the question with her eyes.

“Because you’re my friend and nothing against Holmes, but he’s not really my type,” John joked stiffly. It clearly wasn’t funny and no one laughed.

“How do you expect to do that exactly?” Anderson continued on wearily. John understood his worry. Sherlock was a little cruel but why Anderson would think John would help Sherlock be cruel was beyond him. Then again, one could never be too careful around Sherlock and his friends.

“I thought we could go to the cinema. The lot of us. I’ll invite Sherlock and just kind of let things go from there.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Sally scoffed. John couldn’t argue with her, but it wasn’t like there was a better way.

“Do you really think he’d go for it?” Anderson asked tentatively.

“Worth a shot?” John shrugged, knowing it was less than helpful. Anderson glanced toward Sally, unsure but clearly willing to try. Sally looked away sharply, but didn't offer enough disagreement to pass it on.

"If you'd think you could help." Anderson smiled that strange smile that always seemed far more bitter than it really was. John assumed it was his face shape or something. John returned the small smile.

Anthea & [Harry] & Mycroft

"Nothing too unusual today. There's been word of a loose dog wandering the grounds. One of the teachers is offering a reward for him, students are guessing it's his. Should something be done?" Anthea glanced up to the pair of partially dressed young men. Mycroft sighed patiently, doing up the button on his trousers. Harry glanced over his shoulder to view the naked, freckled backside of his roommate.

"Is it hostile?" he questioned as he did up his shirt.

"How much is he offering?" Mycroft followed up.

"No. And fifty pounds," Anthea answered, rolling over on the bed. Both sighed again.

"No. Leave it. It'll solve itself," Mycroft assured her, pulling his shirt on.

"There were some strange noises coming from your brother's dorm again. No one saw anything, though."

"Pointless. Leave it alone, My." Harry answered before he had a chance. Mycroft agreed with a small nod. He'd do something about it later, but it would be personally and privately as Mycroft always did. He'd likely call his brother aside and have a mild discussion that would end as it usually did with passive aggressiveness.

"The vending people are late. The machines will be empty by noon."

"Drop the price on the cafeteria by twenty five percent," Mycroft drew on.

"And make sure the water fountains are being chilled," Harry added on helpfully. Anthea returned to her phone with no further complaints. She was, thankfully, amazing. She didn't mind not having a lot of time to spend with her boyfriend and she was on top of everything constantly. Harry had no idea how she did it, but it was a skill neither he nor Mycroft would be able to match. He focused on dressing again, fixing his tie in the mirror and pulling his blazer on with a shrug of the shoulders.

"You're still upset with me," Harry murmured. Mycroft glanced at him with an indifferent eye.

"Pardon?" he answered.

"You're upset that I set you up again."

"I am not," Mycroft promised, but Harry knew the signs of an angry Holmes.

"Yes you are. Come now, Mr. Holmes, it'll be refreshing."

"I am not upset with you for setting me up. I am upset with you for using me as bait to go after another student," Mycroft corrected coldly. Harry only chuckled. That was so Mycroft. He grabbed his roommate by the edges of his suit and turned him around to fix his perfect tie.

"Lestrade really likes you. I mean, only the whole school knows it. So what if I want to comfort him when you turn him down?" There was nothing wrong with that. Greg, while in a lower grade, was the same age as him and even a year older than Mycroft. It wasn't as though he was taking advantage of him. Mycroft frowned at him, but didn't speak a word.

"Good lord, you're really upset about this." That was bad. Harry released Mycroft's tie with an apologetic smile. "You're still going."

"Of course. It was promised," Mycroft answered simply.

"You'll enjoy it. Shush."

Sherlock & [Sebastian] & Jim

"God, what are you listening to?" Sebastian let himself into the dorm and was instantly met with the terrible sound of what he had to guess as music. Sebastian didn't have a particular taste in music, but it certainly wasn't this.

"Stress," Jim answered simply, not breaking his eyes from his sketch book.

"Fitting." Sebastian chuckled, glancing around for any sign of drugs. Fortunately, it didn't seem to be the case today. Sherlock held his head off the edge of the bed, lazily looking at Jim upside down. "What are you guys doing?"

"Watson asked Sherlock to join him on a date with some friends. He's still dating Sawyer, though, so we're thinking of some of his intentions. Sherlock thinks he's reacting strangely, as well," Jim explained, pulling Sebastian close by his trouser pants. Sebastian sat on the edge of the bed.

"Strange how?" he asked, though he knew he would regret it later.

"He clearly is interested, at least enough to require a conversation about it, but he's avoiding it altogether. Instead of giving in to his curiosity, he's quickly backing out." Sherlock folded his fingers together and held them over his face in his usual thinking mode. "Information suggests that there is trauma from an unknown source causing him to withdraw from something in this situation."

"Guessing it's the homosexuality."

"Which would be unusual due to his sister and furthermore, his friends."

"It doesn’t make him uncomfortable by proxy,”

“It’s making him uneasy by conflict.”

“What?” Sebastian had since long given up trying to follow this conversation. Under the music, which given its name was actually incredibly stressful, he couldn’t tell who was talking. He was positive Jim was mimicking Sherlock’s voice if not only to confuse Sebastian. Both of them looked at him, brown eyes and blue eyes staring at him with the very clear ‘are you stupid’ look.

“It means,”

“He doesn’t care if his friends are gay,”

“He,”

“For whatever reason,”

“Is unnerved by the idea of being gay himself.”

“Does that make it simpler?” It made it creepy if what it did. Sebastian dropped his bag at the end of Jim’s bed and stood to begin to get undressed and change into his rugby uniform. He assumed they’d already considered his idea and would heckle him for it, but that never stopped Sebastian before. Sherlock was right; he was terrible at learning.

“His sister’s an alcoholic,” he offered. Jim and Sherlock looked to one another. “She hides it pretty well, but she’s pretty wasted all of the time.”

“Due to home troubles?”

“Watson shows no signs.”

“Withdrawn.”

“Really?” Sebastian felt as though he shouldn’t know about this conversation. By knowing about it, he was responsible for not stopping it. Of course, he of all people knew it wasn’t exactly easy to stop either of them from plotting especially when they plotted together. He also knew he was required to tell his teammate about this, but he wouldn’t do that either. It was, sure enough, because he was a terrible person. Unsurprisingly, knowing this didn’t bother him like it should.

“Oh yes. Only short term girlfriends. Unusually superficial or strictly logical conversations with his friends. Inability to completely enjoy the success of himself and others. He plays it off well.”

“Best guess with limited information; his parents didn’t take very well to their daughter being gay causing her to drown her sorrows and him to be afraid of the same thing happening.”

“He feels required to fit the social normalcy and thus denies any idea that he wouldn’t.”

“It’ll be challenging to get around that. It’ll require you to get closer and make him feel comfortable and safe. It’ll be time consuming, but supposedly the right moves will make it much easier.”

“I see no reason to stop now.” Sherlock finished with a simple shrug. Jim smiled a twisted lip smile.

“You guys are terrible," Sebastian scoffed. Neither of them were too offended by it. Not that they ever were to be honest. Jim hummed happily along with the next song, which like the last, had no lyrics as he watched Sebastian pull on the last of his uniform.

"So sexy, Sebby. I can't fathom why you're forever without a date,” he purred like a pointy, invasive stick. Sebastian was sure he knew most of the time. It was incredible there was anything Jim didn't know in the first place but Sherlock assured him Jim was clueless.

"Not interested," Sebastian grunted.

"Oh Sebby. That hardly matters. You don't have to be interested to fuck. There's plenty of fuckable guys here," Jim continued, turning his eyes back on his sketches.

"Not gay," Sebastian scoffed. That was true, actually. He wasn't attracted to males in general, only Jim, but it seemed pointless to pursue a relationship with someone he had no interest in liking. Sure enough, he had his fair share of one nighters, but a lot of them got really clingy and it was more trouble than it was worth.

"Neither am I," Jim giggled sarcastically.

"That's because you're a huge whore."

"I'm just aromantic, Sebby. That doesn't make me a whore. I feel so insulted." Jim feigned a dramatic hand on his forehead.

"Right. You keep learning all those ridiculous words for shot. I'm going to practice," Sebastian murmured, hoisting his bag over his shoulder.

John & [Greg] & Sebastian

“You asked Sherlock on a date?” Greg knew conflict when he saw it and if Moran was going to start something, it wasn’t going to go without injury. With a cautious step, he approached John’s side, ready to defend if needed. John, for the benefit of the doubt, didn’t even flinch as the larger man approached. Moran was abnormally large for his age, and it wasn’t without his harm. He would use all of his size and strength to demolish his enemies of which neither John nor Greg wanted to be one of. It was bad enough when they were practicing.

“Yeah?” John answered nervously. Everything was already planned, which made Greg feel a little sleazy, but there wasn’t really any harm in it. They were just trying to get Holmes to like Anderson instead. While it wasn’t inherently bad, if Holmes got hurt feelings, they would have trouble. Moran was big but Moriarty was life ruining and they were all rather protective of each other.

“You hurt Sherlock and I’ll hurt your face.” Moran, fortunately, was a simple man. Greg couldn’t even imagine what Moriarty would threaten, or Holmes himself for that matter.

“You didn’t have to warn me for me to know that,” John assured him with an arch of the brow.

“Yeah,” Moran mumbled. “Sherlock isn’t easily hurt,” he admitted, though it appeared to be mostly to himself and partly an apology. It was hard to tell.

“But he’s also an incredible idiot at times. Don’t take advantage of him.” Moran added on sharply, “or you’ll end up like Wilkes.” It wasn’t hard for Greg and John to unanimously decided they didn’t want to end up like Sebastian Wilkes. His sudden accident made way more sense now, not that either of them would actually tell anyone. Together, Moran, Moriarty, and Holmes were a force to be reckoned with. And Wilkes was a bit of a twat anyways.

“If we’re done,” Greg interrupted casual. “Practice?” John glanced to Moran with a pointed look and the younger male only grunted.

Sherlock & [John] & Anderson

John knocked twice on Sherlock's dorm door. He hoped dearly this worked. Refreshed from a grueling practice, he was feeling much better about this idea. He was a little bruised, Sebastian had clearly been in a brutal mood today, but that wasn't unusual on a contact sport team full of developing young men. He'd showered, of course, and informed his girlfriend of his plan. Sarah didn't like it, but John had chosen to ignore her. She didn't understand, Sherlock wouldn't just leave him alone.

Moran appeared. It was well known that the three of them were usually found together, even to the point that Moran didn't use his own room. He glanced over John with a drawn brow. He almost seemed sympathetic. He probably was.

"Sherlock's here, yeah? We were going to the movies?" John asked tentatively, though it was unlikely Moran had forgotten. Of course he was here, but what was he supposed to say really? Moran grunted slightly, leaving the door open and retreating from it in a clear sign of invitation. John cautiously helped himself in, expecting the worse. Surprisingly, 221 was relatively clean. No worse than his own room.

Sherlock glanced to him, clearly just finished from a shower and his wet hair heavy on his head. John swallowed. Moriarty yanked a towel over Sherlock's head suddenly, catching him by surprise but not earning any response. He rubbed Sherlock's hair dry roughly, but helpfully, supposedly.

"Where are ya goin'?" Moriarty asked in a mocking tone. John thought it was mocking. He actually didn't care to spend enough time with Moriarty to find out.

"Er. ‘Piggy’." John wasn't counting on Sherlock reacting to any film they saw, but he could hope.

"Oh! I want to go," Moriarty announced loudly. "Come on Sebby. We're going too." And that was the end of that discussion. John wasn't going to bother with it. Moran would surely manage.

"Jim, I ain't even showered yet," Moran grumbled.

"Your musk will bring in the guys. I mean; 'women'." Moriarty made air quotes, releasing Sherlock long enough for him to get the towel off his head. Moran glared at Moriarty.

"I'm ready," Sherlock, thankfully, announced. He brought his shoulder bag over his head and approached John. A confident, but gradual gesture brought their hands together and John forced himself not to shrug it off.

"Good. Okay. The others are waiting at the gate," John agreed, nervously grasping Sherlock's hand in response. He took the lead with Sherlock at his side and Moran and Moriarty following. Greg, Sally, Henry, and, of course, Anderson were waiting. Paul was busy studying with his girlfriend and the even number rounded everything out.

"Um. Sherlock, this is Greg,"

"I'm aware," Sherlock said sharply and with great meaning. Clearly a stab at Greg's crush on Holmes. Greg forced a smile. John knew he had mentioned working with Sherlock on a project, but no one could be sure if Sherlock remembered.

"Henry, Sally, and Dino."

"That's your name?" Moriarty asked suddenly, smirking as if it were hilarious.

"No." Anderson scowled. "It's a nickname. Like how the rest of the school have been calling you Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades." It hadn't occurred to John that Moriarty would ruin his plan immediately. It should have.

"They've what?" Sherlock stared.

"Where I am Hades, being the cruelest, most scariest of the group; Sebby is Zeus, powerful but harmless unless provoked; and you're Poseidon, likely because he completes the two and 'the rest of the school' are idiots." Moriarty scoffed. He was already making everyone uneasy. "If they really wanted to take the Greek myth approach, the sword, the shield, and Perseus works much better."

"Or our names," Sherlock murmured, “of which we have."

"Sylvian. My name is Sylvian," Anderson informed him suddenly. Sherlock and Jim took far too much notice in it. John squeezed Sherlock's hand unintentionally. Okay. This was a bad idea anyways. Something good had to come of it though. Anything.

"Let's go, hmm? Don't want to miss it," John insisted and they all began to walk. It was an awkward silence at first, but fortunately Henry managed to put some decent conversation in the air.

"What teams are you guys following this year?" The question was directed straight for the uncommon two, but was taken up by everyone.

"Ireland," Moriarty said with a sudden Irish accent.

"Me too." Greg smiled with surprise. It was a little unexpected to actually have something in common. "They've a really good team this year."

"Statistically, their players are on par alone, but after seeing their last couple matches, it's looking really good." Moriarty hung on Moran's arm heavily, nearly being mistaken for a couple if everyone wasn't painfully aware of Moriarty's playboy status.

"Yeah. Until Scottland learns to work together, then they're screwed," Sally scoffed with flourished movement to cross her arms over her chest.

"England is leading right now, and I doubt they're going to give it up easily," John insisted, finding it particularly hard to disattached Sherlock from his hand. He wasn't trying too hard, he didn't want to make it obvious. It would be awkward if Anderson tried to grab Sherlock's hand while he was still holding hands with John. It would be awkward anyways, but that was unavoidable.

"England's number twelve is a brute. He shut down Australia's offense. Did ya see them after the last match?" Moran agreed, using his free arm to light a fag.

"Broke forty's ankle, hell yeah," Greg chuckled. "But he's headin' for a suspension. He can't do anything from the bench can he?"

"I dunno. He's pretty tricky," Moriarty agreed.

"They won't give him up too easily, either," Henry added in. "They might be troublesome."

"What about you, Sherlock?" Anderson asked the quiet Sherlock. He made a point of walking side by side with him, though he was smart enough to not touch Sherlock in the slightest. Sherlock looked at him pointedly and John was positive he was suspicious of something. However, he also thought Sherlock would answer something along the lines of not being interested in sports.

"England has the best chances." He shrugged minutely. "Number twelve's tactics are questionable but not actually against the rules ergo; he won't be benched or suspended. As long as he keeps his temper in check and his mouth closed, he'll be fine. Strategy wise, he'll kick the strong players out from under their teams and his team will take advantage."

"I didn't take you as the sort to care about something so-" John began but wasn't entirely sure how to finish.

"Tedious, irrelevant, stupid, barbaric, a complete waste of valuable time only useful for entertainment and holding no real value in the world?" Moriarty filled in for him courteously. John hadn't been going for those words exactly.

"I'm generally indifferent to it," Sherlock admitted. "But as all things do, it has its place." John had to guess it was purely for social status and that, in fact, Sherlock took no joy in knowing about something that didn't interest him. Of course, everything he guessed about Sherlock were utterly blind and likely wrong, but he didn't have much choice. After all, it didn't seem like Sherlock cared about social status.

"Oh. Well I'm a bit of an Englander too," Anderson offered nonchalantly.

"Assumed," Sherlock murmured indifferently.

"Anyways," John said swiftly, before any damage could be done. "You're doing violin, yeah?"

"Is that actually a question?" Sherlock wasn't being sarcastic; he actually wasn't sure. Close up, he was completely different. John tried not to think about his letters.

"Well. No, I guess. You were just in the string show, so it should be assumed,” he admitted, trying not to come out as idiotic and failing horribly.

"You were really good," Henry hummed with a small smile. "What was it, anyways? The song."

"Manic depression," Sherlock answered with a quirk of the lips. It wasn't because he was terribly creepy, but rather, he really enjoyed his violin.

"He was going to do an original piece, but it intimidated the other strings." Moriarty giggled. "I doubt you understand that, but it was absolutely gorgeous."

"Maybe you could play it for us later tonight?" Anderson suggested.

"I suppose," Sherlock answered in his plain tone, but his lips gave away how pleased he was. His eyes did not. Surprisingly, Sherlock and Moriarty weren't nearly as weird as they appeared to be from afar. They were decent conversationalists, or at least were really good at pretending, and even shared some similar opinions and taste. It was disorienting to come to realize. Sherlock's hand remained in his hand the entire way while Anderson seemed to migrate closer and cause Sherlock to walk closer to John. Moriarty migrated to Moran's back.

[Sherlock] & Sylvian

It was clear Anderson was trying to grab his attention especially considering he was using many of the same techniques Sherlock had up his sleeve. It was slightly irksome to get around John trying to shrug him off. It was curious though. Did he think that would work because it had before? Why would it be so easy to sway one's interest? Sherlock absently wondered if Sebastian could be swayed if Jim was so inclined. Sherlock reminded himself that Sebastian was not a valid test subject. It was a little disgusting, too, that people could willingly change their feelings so swiftly. Sherlock was given yet another reason to not burden himself with the company of others.

Jim was bearable because he didn't hide his intentions. Sebastian was bearable because he couldn't hide his intentions. Everyone else was up in the air and Sherlock didn't like it. He could read them easily, but human reason could change irrationally and instantly. For the sake of the experiment, Sherlock wouldn't be changing goals, but he now had to show John this while simultaneously shaking off his admirer. He squeezed John's hand, walking closer to his date and making it clear he wanted to get friendly with John, not Anderson. It wasn't working. Tedious.

Sherlock was, of course, situated between John and Anderson in the theater. Lestrade took John's right side and Sally on Anderson's left. Sebastian sat directly behind Sherlock and Jim on Sebastian's right. It was shocking and Sherlock had a moment of irrational panic and anxiety. It was smothered as it always was before anyone noticed. He wouldn't admit to having social anxiety, but it wasn't his favorite task. He needed no more than one for company, two generally being the maximum.

The movie began and Sherlock instantly lost interest. He wasn't exactly thrilled to be in the cinema in the first place but he stood it. He did all the little signs when appropriate, gripping John's hand, leaning against him, and politely sharing his kettle corn. He didn't hide his face, though. Sherlock didn't think he could pull off that facade. On his other side, Anderson was doing the same only it was real. He clung to Sherlock's hand, leaned into him, and even plunged his face right into Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock stared at him sharply, but it went unnoticed.

It wasn't long before Jim was tapping on the back of his neck. Sherlock slipped his hand out of John’s and back to entwin his hand with Jim's as if sharing a friendly handshake. No one noticed.

'Watson's trying to set you up with the weird kid,' Jim tapped out on the side of his hand in morse code.

'I'm aware,' Sherlock tapped back. 'It's rather difficult to get him off. Suggestions?'

'Without alerting Watson?' Jim mused.

'While staying in character,' Sherlock insisted. Jim didn't respond immediately. It was a challenge.

'Give him what he wants.'

'Affection?'

'No. Watson would assume you're off of him. Sex. Fits in with your letters and will satisfy his need for your attention.'

'I don't-'

'Starr and Pepper,' Jim assured him. Sherlock had trouble placing the names, but when he did, it was informative. Porn stars. That wasn't a bad idea.

'That won't make him clingy?' Sherlock asked. Jim paused long enough for him to know that was a possibility.

'Possibly. Usual avoidance tactics?'

'Watson's friend.'

'Not close friends.'

'Close enough for a set up.' Sherlock found himself in a curious position. Perhaps John was just far enough not to take offense. Sebastian seemed to have taken notice and another hand touched his.

'Want me to deal with him?' As loyal as always, Sebastian wasn't happy with Anderson giving Sherlock any unwanted attention.

'Not yet.' No point in causing unneeded conflict. Sebastian withdrew his hand.

'I'll give it a shot. It should hold for the night.' Sherlock withdrew his hand. He cautiously stood and John looked at him suddenly.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly and softly. Sherlock smiled slightly and assured him everything was fine with a nod. He waited for John to turn back to his movie before Sherlock turned his attention to Anderson.

"Come with me," he murmured in the most seductive voice he could manage. Anderson stared at him with huge eyes and was instantly ready to come with him. It should have been suspicious, but apparently not. The younger man followed him out of the theater and once out, turned to him.

"Is something wrong?" Anderson asked nervously. Out of the startling moment, he was suspicious. Sherlock took him by the wrist and hurried along to the nearest loo. He dragged him in, feeling Anderson's pulse quicken under his hand. The desires of students his own age were disgusting. He pulled Anderson into one of the stalls, the small area already forcing them close.

"What are you-?"

"I know you like me," Sherlock assured him with a velvet voice. He pushed himself against the smaller body, hips pinned against Anderson's. "I've read your letters, Slyvian." He could see Anderson's throat drying up. He didn't know what to do with his hands or his face, apparently.

"You- you did?"

"Mm," Sherlock agreed. "But I'm interested in John, Sylvian. I always have been and if you ruin this for me-" He bucked his hips making Anderson moan. "We're going to have a problem. Do you understand?" Anderson nodded swiftly, biting his lips desperately.

"Good. Your affections are skin deep, anyways." Sherlock pressed his palms against the smooth wall, giving himself more leverage. "You wouldn't like me, Sylvian. Few people seem to. So /stop/." For making everything up on the spot, Sherlock thought he was managing well. He could reject Anderson without the negative protocol thanks to arousal. Not ideal, since Sherlock hated physical contact, but it worked.

"Do you understand?" he asked again, offering another dose of friction with a jerk of his hips. Anderson nodded his head rapidly.

"Yes," he groaned. "Yes, yes. John. You like John. Just- please." Anderson grasped at his waist, trying to pull him closer. Consequences of arousal, Sherlock hadn't fully considered that. Anderson's hard on pressed against his leg firmly. That he could deal with. When Anderson tried to kiss him, however, Sherlock swerved away.

"I don't like kissing,” he murmured with less enthusiasm. Anderson didn't seem to notice.

"Okay. Okay." Anderson rutted against him desperately and Sherlock didn't have to do much. He responded the minimum amount needed to be deemed responsive. It was enough, thankfully. Anderson's breath was heavy in his ear and his body hot against him. It was highly unappealing. That was more than enough for Anderson and within moments, he reached orgasm. He breathed heavily and Sherlock put distance between them.

"Clean off," Sherlock instructed, moving to leave the stall. "This stays between us." Anderson only managed another weaker nod.

[John] & Sherlock

John was, to say the least, pleased by the change of events. Hopefully, Sherlock wasn't saying anything cruel to Anderson. He supposed that was a possibility, but he really wanted that not to be the case. Sherlock returned by himself, seating himself back in his chair beside John and instantly rested his head on his date's shoulder.

"Where's Dino?" Sally whispered sharply before John could. Sherlock glances toward her smalley.

"He'll be back in a minute." Sherlock shrugged simply, tangling his fingers in John's. Sally scowled. So Sherlock wasn't getting friendly with Anderson.

"Everything alright?" John asked curiously. Sherlock nodded carefully.

"Of course. I just needed to chat with him," Sherlock promised, leaning in to place his lips on John's jaw in a lazy motion. John swallowed thickly, trying not to show how much it bothered him. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure if it was bad or good bothered.

"About what?" John pressed on. Sherlock quietly shushed him.

"Nothing important,” he was assured. John didn't feel very assured. It was clearly important enough to leave the theater. Anderson silently returned and even in the dark, his face was clearly flushed. He didn't look like he'd been crying, though. He and Sally shared a short conversation John couldn't hear and afterwards, it was clear their plan had been abandoned. Anderson didn't touch Sherlock anymore, though he was particularly heavy with the seductive looks. Sherlock ignored him.

John wasn't surprised. Whatever Sherlock had done, he had done it well. It was surprising and, quite honestly, brilliant. Sherlock could clearly take care of his own problems. His worse fears had been of Moran or Moriarty going at Anderson. John hadn't expected them to come and he couldn't exactly say 'no'. His arm somehow ended up around Sherlock's back before the end of the movie. His plan to shake Sherlock off had turned into pulling him closer. Now he couldn't take it back and Sherlock would expect more. John told himself he didn't want that. It may not have worked.

[Jim] & Sherlock

Watson's plan was easily foiled and Jim was seriously doubting his ability. He was a rugby player though, how smart could he be? If he wanted to get rid of Sherlock, he'd have to try a lot harder. However, there was really nothing he could do to make Sherlock abandon his experiment. Perhaps one thing, but Watson was too kind to think of it and his friends too stupid. It also required John to realize he was being experimented on and that wasn't going to well.

"There's something about Paul Anderson," Jim hummed happily on the cool walk home. "He's so- what's the word for it? Fuckable." He could feel Sebby tense under his arm.

"You don't have to tell me twice." Donovan agreed, her and her stupid little friend in a much better mood. Of course Anderson was in a better mood now that Sherlock had taken care of him. It was ridiculous how easy it had been. Sherlock didn't even have to fuck him.

"Yeah. A psychopathic murderer is sexy." Lestrade scoffed. Sebby tensed again, but hid the motion by reaching for a cigarette as if Jim hadn't already noticed. He had some of the weirdest triggers.

"I don't think he was a psychopath," Watson murmured, his arm lounged around Sherlock's waist delicately. Sherlock had somehow maneuvered himself into the best position to force Watson to unconsciously make a change. For being rather inept at this, Sherlock was doing a fantastic job at faking it.

"He was willingly hurting people for his own gain without regret. More so, he showed the typical signs of sadism and artificial charm. He was pretty close to it," Knight explained in his casually nervous tone. It was so annoying.

"Is that really the form of a psychopath in today's age? He might be a criminal, but I hardly see how he stacks up to a real psychopath. Jack the Ripper was a real psychopath. Piggy was, admittedly, less so," Jim insisted, stealing a drag on Sebby's fag.

"If Jack the Ripper were to make his attempts in today's day and age, he wouldn't stand a chance," Knight argued with more confidence.

"There are dozens of 'Jack the Rippers' running about free, they're simply no longer blown out of proportion," Jim debated pompously. It wasn't stimulating, but it was fun.

"Then they can't be compared to Jack the Ripper. The whole thing that made him was the panic he induced."

"You can't panic a population desensitized to violence."

"Then there can't be anymore Jack the Rippers."

"But there can be those worse than him, we simply don't notice anymore, which lowers the common conception of what is thought to be a psychopath."

"Well I'm officially freaked out, thanks." Lestrade scoffed, moving closer in to the group and unknowingly closer to what he was trying to get away from.

"Sorry," Knight apologised with a small smile.

"I'm not," Jim scoffed. He thumped Sebby's arm with the flat of his palm. "Sebby's got it." he slid his hand down further, palming the knife in his trousers seductively. Sebby growled at him.

"Can we still hear you play?" Anderson asked. Sherlock glanced to him a little, clearly unsure of it but unwilling to argue.

"I suppose,” he agreed. Jim was fond of listening to Sherlock play and he was sure they would too. On the other hand, he wasn't fond of the idea of letting other people listen to his Sherlock. Never the less, they pulled into 221 to listen to Sherlock. The dorms were certainly not made to accompany eight people but they managed. Jim helped himself to Sebastian's lap, as he usually did.

Sherlock's playing was beautiful, as he always was. If Jim believed in love and if love were something that could be seen, he was watching Watson fall in love with Sherlock. The fool. This was going to turn out fantasticly.


	4. Light Grenades

[Pros] and [Cons]

of Breathing

 

Chapter Four: Light Grenades

 

Mycroft & [Gregory]

  
John's plan might have backfired, but Greg was still excited about his own date. It couldn't possibly be any worse than John's, mostly because Mycroft wasn't as bad as his brother. He didn't dress too nicely and he didn't dress in rags. He felt confident when he left the room and by the time he reached the front of building, the feeling was gone. Who was he kidding? This was a terrible idea. Why did he let them talk him into this?  
  
"Afternoon, Gregory." Harry smiled at him.   
  
"Hey," Greg answered nervously. "Where's Mycroft?"   
  
"He'll be about in a moment," Harry assured him. Was Harry joining them? Of course he was, it wasn't a date. Not a date. "Just finishing up some paperwork."  
  
"Ah. Well, I, what should I be doing?" Greg asked carefully.   
  
"Don't worry yourself so much, Gregory," Harry promised. "It's not too hard. We're just examining the grounds for renovations. Everything needs to be kept in prime condition for the money we're being paid."  
  
"You're- coming along then?" Greg knew it wasn't a date, but he was a little disappointed. How was he supposed to get to know Mycroft with his best friend around?   
  
"Another pair of eyes couldn't hurt," Harry answered with a rather flirtatious smile.   
  
"Course." He smiled back. Henry was right, he should make friends with Harry. It wouldn't do either of them any good to be unfriendly, at least, it wouldn't do Greg any good. "Have you known Mycroft long?"  
  
"Since junior school," Harry assured him. "Though really, he's been bumped up so many grades, I'm surprised he didn't graduate when he was ten."  
  
"If we could." Mycroft stepped between them easily. "I'd like to finish up before half ten." A few taps on his tablet brought up his pre-made listing. He started off and Greg followed swiftly. It was fairly easy to figure out what he was supposed to be doing, though Mycroft was much better at it and ultimately left him and Harry without much to do.   
  
"The window up there needs a new frame," Harry noted, though Mycroft had noticed it just moments sooner. Greg couldn't bring himself to chat with either of them for fear of distracting Mycroft. The night was cool and enjoyable for a walk at least.   
  
"Watch it!" Harry grabbed Mycroft by the back of his jacket suddenly, yanking him out of the way of the oncoming dog. Instinctually, Greg grabbed the mighty beast by its collar before it lunged at Mycroft, stopping it short and catching the creature's attention.   
  
"As much as that's appreciated, Harry, please let me go," Mycroft scoffed, pulling free and brushing the wrinkles out of his outercoat. Greg let the dog go and it nuzzled his leg happily. It was huge, but adorable. He scratched it behind the ears and it barked.   
  
"You're a biggie, aren't you? Should get you back home." Greg chuckled, rubbing its neck and shoulders gladly.   
  
"Must be Mr. Starks' dog," Harry murmured, patting the creature softly on its massive head.   
  
"Pets aren't allowed here, though, are they?" Greg questioned curiously. He wasn't arguing, of course, he loved animals, but it seemed a little irresponsible to just let them run about. Mycroft wasn't as interested in touching it, though to Greg's surprise, he wasn't disgusted by it at all.   
  
"They're not, usually. Mr. Starks had some misunderstanding, it seems, and his canine ended up here instead of where he was supposed to be." Mycroft frowned in a put off fashion. "It got out before he could deal with it. Bring it along, would you?" He motioned to its collar again, but when Greg reached for it, the dog took off. It disappeared around the corner leisurely and without a care. Greg swiftly followed it with Harry and Mycroft close behind. The dog clearly knew where it wanted to go however and that just happened to be directly to Moran.   
  
"Sebastian? What are you doing?" Greg stalled to a halt, watching his teammate unintentional guard the massive dog that had squeezed between him and the wall. Moran coughed into his hand, not so discreetly hiding the smoke that came out.   
  
"Nothin',” he said gruffly. "Just needed some time away from Mr. and Mr. Know-it-all."   
  
"Moran, my I see your hand please?" Mycroft instructed, holding out his own to accept Moran's balled up fist. Moran didn't move.   
  
"That'd be a loaded question Holmes,” he answered.   
  
"No, but I applaud your attempt," Mycroft humored him. "As much as you refuse to incriminate yourself, it's not exactly well hidden is it? This is your last warning, Mr. Moran; Stop smoking on school grounds. You can take this dog back to Mr. Starks in the morning, as well. It seems to like you."   
  
"Course Holmes. Anything you say." Moran saluted him sarcastically, pocketing his fist and starting in the opposite direction than they were heading. "Prikhodite." He patted his leg with his free hand and the dog followed him quietly. Greg held back an amused noise. Of course Moran was good with animals, it was rather ironic.   
  
"That solves one problem," Harry mused. "You think he'll stop this time?"  
  
"No," Mycroft answered blandly. Greg wasn't sure there was anything that could stop Moran from having a fag.   
  
"Perhaps we should change their rooms again. Put some distance between your brother and them?"  
  
"I doubt the results will be any different from last time." Mycroft sighed, tapping away on his little device. He tucked it under his arm patiently, glancing to the darken sky. He seemed to be staring at something, but Greg wasn’t entirely sure what it was. He was probably naming the stars, or calculating his exact coordinate or something entirely and utterly brilliant.   
  
“How on earth do the street lamps keep going out?” Or he was looking at the broken lamp. Greg couldn’t help but chuckle and it earned him a curious look from both of them.   
  
“I don’t see anything funny about that.”  
  
“No, I just- I figured you’d be thinking something brilliant like the sound of an orchestra, or the names of constellations or something,” he admitted lightheartedly. Harry offered a small laugh behind his hand.  
  
“Lyra,” Mycroft answered plainly. “Made of M56, M57, Vega, Sheliak, Sulafat, Aladfar, and Alathfar. Sagittarius made of M75, M55, M54, M70, M69, M17.” His eyes remained firmly on the dark sky, pale orbs following the distant dots with mesmerizing ease.   
  
“What are you doing?” Greg asked rather stupidly.  
  
“Naming the stars,” Harry murmured, turning his eyes to the sky in a similar fashion. Greg wasn’t sure if he could actually see what Mycroft was pointing out, or even if Mycroft could see what he was naming, but it didn’t seem to matter much. He just continued to list off names and numbers in a consistent tone that could lull Greg to sleep with ease. He was sure Mycroft could go on all night, there were certainly enough stars.   
  
“That’s brilliant,” Greg breathed. Mycroft looked to him, pale green eyes as indifferent as they always were.   
  
“Remembering a system of stars is not brilliant.”   
  
“Not that. Bleedin’ hell, you.”  
  


Sherlock & [Sebastian] & Jim

  
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Jim teased. Sebastian wasn’t sure what he expected when he brought the dog back to the dorm, but it was along the lines of that. The dog sniffed around curiously. Sherlock made of a show of avoiding it, hurriedly climbing onto his bed and out of reach of the sniffling nose.  
  
“It’s Gladstone. Starks’ dog,” Sebastian explained, turning the desk chair around to seat himself in. He was tempted to try and finish his smoke that Holmes had so kindly interrupted, but he was running low on cigarettes and it would be nothing but a pain to have to go out and get them before the weekend. Gladstone placed his paws on the edge of Sherlock’s bed noisily sniffing at the occupant.   
  
“Get it away, Sebastian,” Sherlock whined in a surprisingly Jim voice, right down to the Irish accent. Jim faltered in his voice constantly and willingly, but Sherlock, while he was capable of, did not. The only reason he would mimic Jim would be to get Sebastian to do something immediately and it worked. He grabbed Gladstone by the collar and pulled him away from Sherlock roughly. He couldn’t help it, even though Sebastian knew Sherlock wasn’t Jim.  
  
“Are you afraid of dogs, Sherlock?” He couldn’t possibly be. After all the time they’d known each other, something like that was bound to come up even if it was only because Jim was teasing him about it. Besides, didn’t Sherlock have a family dog at one point?   
  
“Of course not.” Sherlock scoffed. “Animals have a tendency not to like me. Plus, it’s filthy and drooling.”  
  
“Oh! That’s the mutt the reward is being offered for, isn’t it?” Jim prodded up suddenly. “We have to take him back tomorrow. We need the extra for our plan.” Our? Sebastian really didn’t want to ask, as he usually didn’t, but anything that required money was doubly bad.   
  
“Our?”   
  
“Watson, of course.” Bleedin’ hell. “Anderson will undoubtedly tell his little friend, who will tell Watson in an attempt to get him to give Sherlock to Anderson, but Watson will refuse because the idea of Sherlock doing anything sexual with anyone is too tempting. Sherlock is quite attractive, after all, and if Watson really is at least bisexual, he’ll naturally feel jealous and want to keep Sherlock to himself.”  
  
“And you need money why?” Sebastian was sure Jim was leaving something out.   
  
“Lingerie,” Jim answered simply. This was going worse than he thought.  
  
“You’re going to put Sherlock in lingerie.”  
  
“You follow! Oh good.”  
  
“No,” Sebastian deadpanned.   
  
“No one was really asking you,” Jim assured him with an amused giggle.   
  
“No,” Sebastian repeated. “Not going to happen. Not going to happen at all. Don’t even think that it will. Sherlock, I know Jim talks you into a lot of stuff, but this is just- no.”  
  
“I am aware, thank you Sebastian, but it was my idea.”  
  
“You’re idea- Sherlock, no offence, but that hardly seems like your idea.”  
  
“Provocativeness has been proven to be a perfectly viable strategy especially in concerns of men. The point of this experiment is to test Watson’s reactions to the unusual, or what he deems to be unusual, if you had forgotten,” Sherlock reminded him pointedly and unemotionally. Of course Sebastian hadn’t forgotten. How could he have bloody forgotten? He had to take a moment to gather his senses, knowing it was pointless for him to get upset. Over time, he stopped getting upset more and more, but sometimes he just couldn’t help it.They were going to take this too far. Sebastian pressed his hand over his forehead and through his hair.   
  
“Whatever.” He shook his head. “When you push Watson too far, it’s going to be on you two. Let’s hope one of you actually learns a lesson this time.”   
  
“And when we do, you’ll be there to intervene,” Jim hummed. “Just like you always are and always will be.”  
  
“And what if I’m not?” Sebastian demanded. Jim stared at him with sudden distaste, a looking not completely unfamiliar but never any less frightening.  
  
“Then you better be dead,” Sherlock finished in Jim’s voice. Surprisingly, it didn’t make it any better. In fact, it was worse. It was worse because Sebastian knew it was true, Jim knew it was true, and Sherlock knew it was true. He wasn’t sure where he’d taken a wrong turn. Sebastian wasn’t even sure if he wanted to turn back. He was going to assume that was bad.   
  
“I’m definitely on board with the purple now.” Jim said suddenly. “You’re a purple.”  
  


Martin & [Henry]

  
Henry, in general, tried to keep his head up even in the worst situations. Martin helped. Martin definitely helped. In fact, he couldn’t think of a time he was happier than after somehow being in contact with his neurotic, accident prone, self-conscious, awkward boyfriend. Despite being all of those things, Martin always knew how to make him feel better. It was curious and wonderful. That was one thing Henry would never wonder ‘why’ about. He didn’t care why, he just loved that it happened.   
  
Sometimes, however, he couldn’t keep his spirits high. Sometimes, he realized just how pitiful he was. There weren’t supposed to be animals at the school, there weren’t supposed to be dogs at the school, so why was there a massive, furry beast headed straight for him? Henry could only think of panic and fear and death.  
  
“Henry?”   
  
He didn’t mean to, but Henry knew he had screamed. It was going to kill him just like his father! That’s what they did! They killed things and Henry was a thing! His back hit a locker way too quickly and he quickly discovered he had nowhere to go.   
  
“Henry!”   
  
“Oh my god. He’s afraid of Gladstone. That is hilarious.”  
  
“It’s not funny, Moriarty!”  
  
“No, it’s more than funny. That’s sort of what hilarious means.”  
  
“I think you should hurry and take him to Mr. Starks, Sebastian.”  
  
“Mph. Yeah.”   
  
He was cornered and stunned and it was going to get him! Henry lost touch with the rest of the world and even after the dog had been taken away, he remained huddled in the corner of the lockers and wall with his knees pressed into his chest. He could only stare blindly at the linoleum flooring, thinking of the foggy forest where his father had violently died. There was- there had just been so much blood.   
  
“Henry? Henry listen to me.”  
  
And it just stared at him with those red eyes! It had attacked his father for no reason and it would do the same to him!   
  
“Henry! Deep breaths!” Martin? Henry forced himself to suck in a lungful of air, nearly choking on it in his hyperventilation. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Henry. Shh sh sh.”  
  
“Martin?” he asked quietly, trying to level himself again.  
  
“Yes. Deep breaths, come on. Slowly, just like you always tell me.” Henry nodded quickly and repeatedly, assuring himself that Martin was right and Martin wouldn’t lie to him even if he was good at lying. “It’s gone now Henry. You’re okay. Everything’s okay now.”  
  
“Yes. Yes. Yeah. It’s- everything- I’m fine,” he agreed, daring to glance around in search for the creature. He hadn’t imagined it, had he? It would have been worse if he imagined it. There was no dog, but a group of concerned students were watching him at a distance. Henry focused a little more, glancing up to the phone being held to his face and, surprisingly, Holmes holding it.   
  
“John’s going to help you to the nurse’s office. The dog’s gone, Henry. It’s okay. Take your anxiety medication and everything will be okay.”   
  
“Yeah.” Henry quietly breathed back, closing his eyes and slowly pushing himself up. Holmes handed him the mobile, clearly not too worried about parting with it. Henry would thank him later. John took him by the arm and gently escorted him down the hall.  
  


John & [Sherlock]

  
“Thank you Martin. I’ll call you back later, okay? I love you.” Knight, once again the nervous wreck he had been upon arriving at the school, quietly hung up the phone and handed it back to its owner. Sherlock accepted it and pocketed it. He had only helped to impress John, but no one had needed to know that. There was a few moments of silence between the three of them before Knight straightened himself out. He was pretending to be okay, Sherlock could tell, but as soon as his medication kicked in, Henry would be fine, so he didn’t say anything.  
  
“Thank you for that.” Knight nodded at him. “How did you- know Martin’s mobile number?”   
  
“A couple months ago we were sitting next to each other and he called. Your phone was sticking out of your pocket a little,” Sherlock explained before realizing he probably shouldn’t have. He should have lied. People didn’t like him noticing things.   
  
“You remember that?” Knight murmured curiously.  
  
“You saw that?” John asked in overlap.  
  
“Of course.” Sherlock tried not to scoff, but it was hard. He wasn’t stupid.   
  
“That’s brilliant.” He must have heard wrong. No, Sherlock knew he hadn’t, but it was so weird. People never said that. People never said anything near that. He didn’t know how to respond, but he was sure the proper response wasn’t to stare like an idiot. John didn’t seem to mind, if not only because he was staring back. Sherlock found himself in a weird moment of tension that had never, in all of his memory, happened to him before.  
  
“You’ll miss class,” Knight murmured helpfully. John looked away and Sherlock hurriedly gathered his thoughts. Weird.   
  
“You’re okay then?” John asked as caring as he always was. Knight simply nodded.  
  
“I’ll be fine,” he assured them. John nodded and with a small motion of his head, instructed Sherlock to lead the way out. Once they were in the hall and out of earshot, John spoke to him again.  
  
“Really though, Sherlock. Thank you for that. Henry’s mentioned he was afraid of dogs before, but I never thought it was that bad,” he admitted. “I don’t think anyone would have known what to do if you hadn’t called Martin.”   
  
“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Sherlock insisted, unsure of how to answer. He was sure he was being complimented, which was good. He was making ground with John, but he didn’t think it would happen due to a friend. It was a note worthy of making. However, Sherlock hadn’t been expecting it at all and therefore, wasn’t prepared.   
  
“Either you don’t give yourself enough credit, or you give other people too much.” John chuckled. Neither. Sherlock did neither of those things. Was John actually flirting with him? He stopped in the middle of the hall and Sherlock mimicked him.  
  
“I’m sorry about before, Sherlock.” This was definitely going better than he expected. “You made me nervous, is all.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Sherlock answered in a rather dead tone, a warning that he wasn’t prepared for this at all. John stupidly didn’t notice. “I seem to make a lot of people nervous.”  
  
“I’ve noticed.” John answered with a small smile. What exactly was Sherlock supposed to say to that? There wasn’t anything logical to answer with and it ended with more staring. This- was problematic. John’s tongue peeked out from between his lips. He was going to try to kiss him. Was it really that easy to make people change their minds? John had just done a complete personality one-eighty. Prepared or not, Sherlock couldn’t exactly refuse. It would confuse John and put his experiment at risk. It couldn’t possibly be that bad. Sherlock had kissed Jim lots of times and it was never terrible, even the two occasions where he had kissed Sebastian hadn’t been horrible experiences. Experiences he’d rather not repeat, but not horrible. He’d just grate his teeth and wait for it to be over. Noting, of course, not to actually grate his teeth.  
  
It didn’t happen as suddenly as most of Sherlock’s kissing experiences had gone. John was slow with it, clearly making sure it was okay first. It was and Sherlock discovered their height difference made things a little more challenging when standing. A challenge that John aced instantly by grabbing Sherlock’s collar and pulling him down. It wasn’t unpleasurable, but like the rest, Sherlock could have done without it. John’s tongue was wet and warm and it didn’t belong in his mouth no matter how nice he was about it. Sherlock responded about as well as he knew how.   
  
Apparently, he was better than he thought he was. Then again, Sherlock didn’t think much about it. After two minutes and thirteen seconds of painfully slow snogging, John let him go. He seemed a little startled, though Sherlock couldn’t be sure about what. It was likely because he was still dating the Sawyer girl, or perhaps that he was still intent on being straight, or-  
  
“Wow you’re good at that.”   
  
“Thank you?”   
  
“Sorry. I just- wow.” Was it possibly he could be won over by a kiss? It did seem Jim could do an awful lot with only a kiss. Sherlock realized that must have been why John was so impressed. Sherlock had learned how to kiss from Jim. Unfortunately, it didn’t appear John was going to be won over so easily. That would have been awfully boring.   
  
“I don’t know why I just did that,” John admitted a little quieter. “That was just because you helped Henry,” he said suddenly and overly vicious. Sherlock blinked. There were definitely signs of fear here.   
  
“Don’t get any ideas,” John growled before taking off for his class. Sherlock counted it as progress. John was swaying, his defense of it had no change on the fact he had done it. This was turning out to be rather interesting. John was an interesting subject.  
  


[Jim]

  
Sherlock was executing their plan well. Watson would fall in love with him and Sherlock would ultimately break his heart. However, as these things usually went, Sherlock would likely fall in love with the fool before the end of it. It was predictable and boring. Watson would likely find out and they would fight, but it wouldn’t end. Sherlock wouldn’t apologise, Sherlock simply didn’t, no, Watson would. Real life didn’t work like that, but sociopaths could bend the world around them. Jim was brilliant at it. Sherlock wasn’t predictable, though. At least, Jim didn’t think he was. Sherlock was a master at the normal. He could fake his way through everything and no one would be the wiser. He’d managed to fool Jim a few times. It was fun.  
  
If Sherlock didn’t fall in love, he would pretend because Watson would, undoubtedly, fall in love. People always fell in love with Sherlock at a distance. When he started to understand what Sherlock really was, he’d only fall deeper. Watson was simply that kind of person. So Sherlock, whether he loved Watson or not, would accept him, because Sherlock wasn’t stupid. The longer they stayed together, the more damage Watson did to himself until Sherlock would no longer let him leave.   
  
Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. The stupid were bound to get something right eventually and they were more right than they would ever know. Sebastian was terrifying, but he was generally harmless. He liked having friends and he didn’t like seeing them get hurt, but he wouldn’t generally stop it unless it directly pertained to him. He was vengeful, too, both discretely and otherwise. He knew when to make a show and when to poison a glass; figuratively of course. He could roar like thunder, frightening everyone but hurting no one or he could strike like lightning, striking only a specific spot without a sound in the world.   
  
Jim was tagged as Hades, though for the wrong reasons. He was just as dangerous and deadly as the others as well as being notoriously vengeful, but it wasn’t without reason. Hades got the short end of the stick between his three brothers, making him vengeful and bitter. Jim could blame his parents and he wouldn’t be wrong, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t give them credit for anything. He was a psychopath because he wanted to be, not because they managed to be neglectful and abusive. He was a force to be reckoned with, but like in the myths, Hades was only ever lonely. Jim wouldn’t agree to that statement, but something like that.  
  
Then there was Poseidon. Many stories told him to be indifferent and non side taking, but Jim knew those couldn’t be right. He was ruler of the oceans and the ocean was a cold, dark place. It was cruel and unforgiving, but not vengeful at all. Anything that wasn’t vengeful was simply wrong. When people drowned, they didn’t blame the ocean. It was common knowledge that when dealing with the ocean, you might very well drown. Sherlock was like the ocean. He was indifferent to most things, he didn’t take sides, and people didn’t blame him when things went wrong; when people drowned in him.   
  
Sherlock was just like the ocean. There were dark secrets hidden in his depths that would kill those who dare to search for them. There were storms that struck and dragged down everything in his way. He was far more frightening than Jim. It was stupid not to be afraid of him. Jim could understand it, though. When he and Sherlock had first met, he had made that mistake. Sherlock was so lithe and harmless looking. Jim had made the mistake of picking at open wounds and then made it worse by initiating physical violence. It wasn’t a fight he’d soon forget. The thrill had been intoxicating. Sherlock’s violence was calculated and swift. He wasn’t like Jim at all, who would gladly drag out the game until nothing was left. No, Sherlock would push everything aside and go straight for the kill.  
  
Jim shuddered just to think of it. That wasn’t the worst part, though. Sherlock wouldn’t even care. That was far worse than enjoying it, or hating it. Sherlock was simply indifferent. It would be fantastic to watch Watson try to deal with him. Would Watson ever manage to deserve Sherlock’s destruction, though? Even Jim couldn’t pull it out again, and there were times when he tried so hard. If he could, Jim was sure there would be no more Watson. He just wanted to see it, just once. He wanted to witness Sherlock completely annihilate someone. It would probably be like he played violin; beautiful.   
  
“Jim?”   
  
“What?” Jim snapped at the intruding voice. He pulled the blanket down from over his head to stare at Sebastian angrily.   
  
“Are you okay?” he asked in a stupidly careful way.  
  
“Fine,” Jim growled back. “Just horny as fuck now. I’m leaving.”  
  
“Where?” Sebastian demanded, making it clear he wasn’t going to move from in front of the door. It was too easy for Jim to shoo him away, however, for Sebastian to continue trying.   
  
“Why? Are you going to fuck me, Sebby?” And sure enough, Sebastian flinched away from the door to let Jim leave. Stupid.  
  


Gregory & [Harry]

  
Harry respected Mycroft and whatever lifestyle he choose to lead, but sometimes it was just hard to understand. Honestly, Gregory’s arse in his rugby uniform was something anyone could appreciate. He made a mental note to watch their rugby team practice more often. They were kind enough to work even harder upon realizing he was watching. John Watson, currently the target of Mycroft’s little brother’s affections, was certainly living up to expectations. He was rather small compared to the others, save perhaps Dimmock, but it didn’t change anything. To be honest, Harry was surprised anyone got up after being crushed by Moran, but Watson shook it off as if it were nothing. It was clear why he was captain, too, his strategy was brilliant.  
  
He supposed part of it was the help of his teammates, but so much of it was under Watson’s instruction. Maybe Sherlock simply had found himself a little crush. It would be good for him, especially considering Sherlock’s record with relationships. It was a good thing Watson was a hardy fellow. When they finally finished up their little session and began to part ways, Harry motioned for Gregory to join him by the bleachers.  
  
“Hey Harry.” Gregory smiled at him as he trotted over, drying his head on a dark purple school towel.  
  
“Hello,” Harry answered pleasantly. “Lovely practice.”   
  
“Oh. Thanks.” Gregory didn’t seem to know what to do. It was likely because he wasn’t sure if Harry was flirting with him or not. Of course, Harry didn’t make it well known that he was quite the flirt. That wasn’t something someone in his position needed to spread about.   
  
“I came down to ask if you would be interested in joining Mycroft and me for a dinner this weekend. Nothing fancy, of course. We just like to go out every once in a while for a good meal. Anthea usually joins us, but she’s decided to spend some time with her boyfriend," Harry explained. Anthea never came with them, but he didn't want Gregory to think he was intruding.   
  
"Just the three of us?" Gregory asked with a slightly discouraged smile.   
  
"I doubt Anthea would care to be a third wheel," Harry assured him. Gregory hesitated a moment, using his towel to shake his hair out. He was clearly trying to decide what was going on. Surely it wouldn't take him that long to figure it out.   
  
"Sure," Gregory agreed finally, smiling with more confidence. "Where?"  
  
"Ma's Chips. It's Mycroft's favorite."  
  
"Oh. I know where that is. What time?" He seemed a little less apprehensive now. Harry patted him on his shoulder casually.   
  
"Let's say Sunday around four?"   
  
"Sounds good." Gregory smiled in earnest. He was quite handsome. If Mycroft didn't come around, Harry would.   
  
"I'll see you then."  
  


[Anthea] & her phone

  
[boyfriend] [1:12 am] You know, I can’t eat cherries anymore without thinking about you. You’re lucky I think about you all the time, anyways.  
  
[me] [1:12 am] I doubt -all- the time.  
  
[boyfriend] [1:13 am] I don’t have to think about you when I’m talking to you.  
  
[me] [1:13 am] Then you’re being lazy.  
  
[boyfriend] [1:15 am] Haha. You caught me. That was a lie. I think about you even then. Now.  
  
[boyfriend] [1:16 am] Are you going to visit me this weekend? I hate that you go to school so far away.  
  
[me] [1:17 am] Of course. I promised I would. I’m taking the tubes down Friday night. I made Mycroft grant me permission.   
  
[boyfriend] [1:17 am] And you’re staying all weekend?  
  
[me] [1:17 am] Leaving Sunday night.  
  
[boyfriend] [1:18 am] Brilliant.   
  
[boyfriend] [1:18 am] I hope you haven’t been taken care of by someone else.  
  
[me] [1:18 am] Are you suggesting I’m fooling around with someone else?  
  
[boyfriend] [1:19 am] I’m suggesting you’re too pretty to be alone.  
  
[me] [1:21 am] I forgive you for not realizing how that sounds.  
  
[boyfriend] [1:21 am] God I love you.  
  
[me] [1:22 am] Good. You can say that with your tongue on Friday.  
  
[boyfriend] [1:22 am] Wouldn’t have it any other way, love.  
  
  


Sarah & [John]

  
The thing with Sherlock had been a fluke. That was it. He’d gotten a little confused with Henry and he did something he regretted. John would admit that and he felt bad about that, but that didn’t mean it meant anything. He put it out of his mind, though. Sarah’s roommate, Sally, was out with Anderson, and his chances of getting off with Sarah was in the green zone. However, as they sat on the edge of her bed in a vice-like grip, she pulled away. John quickly retracted his hand from under her shirt, worried he’d done something wrong and unwillingly to make her upset.  
  
“Sorry John, I just-” Sarah sighed patiently. She straightened out her shirt and scooted away a little. John was disappointed. Whatever had just happened, his chances were currently twiddling down to ‘zero’. “What you’re doing to Sherlock isn’t right, John.”  
  
“What I’m- Sarah. I’m not doing anything to him.” In fact, he was pretty sure it was the other way around. He couldn’t prove anything, but Sherlock had definitely talked him into this on purpose. “Why do you even care? He doesn’t even know you’re name,” John insisted with sudden agitation. This was a mood ruiner.  
  
“That doesn’t make it right,” Sarah scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. There went the last of his chance.  
  
“I’m not doing anything to him,” John assured her once again.   
  
“I don’t think we should see each other anymore, John.” She turned away a little, seeming more disappointed than anything else. John sighed, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. There wasn’t much he could do about that, now was there?   
  
“Okay,” John said quietly, unwilling to have this fight at all. Perhaps he should have fought for it a little more, but he honestly wasn’t too distressed to see it go. He needed to focus on other things right now, he argued with himself. He needed to pay more attention in class and rugby. Then he remembered that he didn’t need an excuse for himself. “If that’s what you want.”  
  
“This is what you want, John.”   
  
“No actually, I don’t believe I’ve ever said that,” John answered swiftly, turning his body away from her in a particularly nonaggressive manner.   
  
“You didn’t have to,” Sarah snapped back. John couldn’t believe he was actually having this conversation. It was so stupid. He waved her off.  
  
“Fine. Whatever. I’m leaving,” John promised and Sarah said nothing more. Once again, his girlfriend had broken up with him. John was never particularly broken up about them and this was no different. He had no reason to be upset. As he headed back to his own dorm he realized by the time morning came, the entire school would know. Which, they usually did, but this time, the entire school included Sherlock.  
  
He wasn’t sure if he was upset or thankful for that. Neither, John hurriedly decided. He was indifferent to Sherlock knowing anything about him and he was sticking to that.  
  



	5. Oh No!

[Pros] and [Cons]

of Breathing

Chapter Five: Oh no!

[Molly] & Irene

  
For the beginning of the year, Molly had her dorm all to herself. She wasn't sure if she was lucky or not, but she certainly had been lonely. This was her first year at the school and it was particularly scary. She'd made a few friends, of course, but not many she could bring herself to talk to out of class. They all had their own groups of friends and she clearly didn't belong there.  
  
Sally tried to get her to come along to the games, but Molly didn't really care for sports. Greg chatted with her during lunch every so often, but they didn't share many common interests. Sebastian had saved her from being hit in the face by a ball one day and now they always partnered up in home economics, but he was particularly quiet and hung around the scary Moriarty. She had to admit she had a huge crush on Sherlock, but he was terrifying in his own way. John was nice enough, but he was unusually distant and it made Molly uncomfortable. So, in all, she didn't have many friends and the thought of a new roommate was exciting.  
  
Molly made a show of fixing up her half of the room and even when she was done, she was so nervous she continued to fumble around with her stuffed kittens. Her new roommate, Adler, was supposed to have arrived at eight, but it was already half eleven with no sign. Molly was getting a little worried and the time she'd spent on her hair was wasted. Finally, at noon, there was a knock. Molly hurriedly opened it, smiling largely and in the most friendly way possible.  
  
"Hello!"  
  
"Hello," the smooth voice answered back. "You must be Molly."  
  
"Yep," Molly smiled. Almost immediately, she felt discouraged though. Adler was so pretty, and she had to admit, she'd likely be the desire of all the boys. Her white shirt had far too many open buttons for her to actually be considered wearing it, showing off nearly all of her cleavage, but not her bra. Her skirt sat high up on her waist and cut off just above her knees. She was even wearing stockings with a gorgeous little zippers down the back. Molly unconsciously fluffed her hair as Adler entered the room and placed her bags on the empty bed. She was wearing makeup and her hair had to have taken hours! Molly frowned.  
  
"I'm Irene Adler. Pleasure," the word rolled off her tongue. "To meet you."  
  
"Y-yeah." Molly still forced her smile. Irene looked at her expectantly and she hurriedly jumped into action. "Oh! That's your bed, of course. And the side table, obviously. The wardrobe we kind of have to share for now. I don't have a lot of stuff, don't worry. The bathroom is in there. There's only a shower, but if you'd like, there's a shared bathing room down the hall with tubs. The cafeteria is out the north exit-" Irene was looking at all of her stuff. Molly suddenly wished she would have put her stuffed animals away. "And- Uh-  I'll - Uh, help you find your classes if you need me to."  
  
"You're adorable," Irene chuckled. Molly blinked.  
  
"I - thank you?" Did that mean she didn't need help? Irene took a patient step closer to her, her height made mostly of heels.  
  
"Let me try again. You are adorable in the most sensual form of the word." Her red lips twisted into a smile. Molly's blush was brighter than Irene's lipstick. She didn't know what to do. Molly fled the room.  
  


Jim & [Sebastian] & Sherlock

  
After the incident with the dog, Sherlock seemed to be in more of a stupor than usual. Jim had successfully collected enough money for their terrible plan and was currently shopping for underwear on his tablet, but Sherlock was surprisingly not interested. Sebastian, as usual, was more worried than he needed to be. Surely nothing had happened. Before he could make anything about it, though, Sherlock came to him. He slipped off of his bed and approached Sebastian slowly, meekly even.  
  
It was weird and put Sebastian off guard. He turned his chair a little and Sherlock came to stand between his legs, eyes almost sad. Sad? Sebastian wasn't sure if it was exactly sad. He placed a comforting hand on either of Sherlock's legs.  
  
"Sherlock? Is everything okay?" He was going to break Watson's neck. Then Sherlock was kissing him. Sebastian wasn't sure what happened between those two things. Jim looked up from his work curiously.  
  
"Sherlock!" Sebastian yelped abnormally high, pushing Sherlock away from him. Sherlock elegantly prevented himself from tripping, making a small turn and flopping back onto his bed.  
  
"I don't understand," he admitted. Sebastian brought his arm across his mouth, torn between a scowl of irritation and a groan of confusion. Why did there always have to be something up with these two?  
  
"Understand what, exactly?" Sebastian growled back.  
  
"Why people are so interesting in snogging."  
  
"And you tested it on Sebastian?" Jim giggled. "He kisses like a dead fish."  
  
"I do not," Sebastian instantly defended, though he wasn't sure why.  
  
"Sherlock," Jim turned to Sherlock for confirmation. However, he only received a blank stare in return.  
  
"I don't know what that means," Sherlock answered indifferently. Jim, fortunately, moved on.  
  
"Watson kissed you? Like, a real kiss?" Jim sat on the edge of his bed some more. "Where? When?"  
  
"I'm guessing you mean did he put his tongue in my mouth? Yes. That, unfortunately, happened. In the hall after we left the nurse's office." Sherlock rolled over, facing away from the rest of the room and drawing his robe further onto himself.  
  
"How was it?" Jim asked eagerly.  
  
"The same as always. Mostly gross."  
  
"So you don't like snogging, not everyone does," Sebastian grunted. He didn't see what that had to do with him.  
  
"Don't be stupid, Basher."  
  
"Are you high?" It was an automatic response. Jim looked to him with an arched brow and Sherlock huffed.  
  
"Told you."  
  
"I wonder if he even realizes it."  
  
"Considering his response time, I'd say it was a reflex rather than a question."  
  
"Sherlock mentioned I only call you 'Basher' when I'm high. Do you really take such notice to me, Seb? That's adorable," Jim giggled. Sebastian stared at him. This was getting out of hand.  
  
"I'm leaving," Sebastian announced suddenly, picking himself up quickly.  
  
"Aw. Did I hurt your feelings? So tender hearted aren't you?" Jim hopped off of his bed, but otherwise paid Sebastian no more attention. Sebastian had no choice but to be worried. He wasn't going to leave them just so they could get high. That, much to his displeasure, wasn't the case. Jim kneeled on the edge of Sherlock's bed momentarily. Sherlock glanced up to him. Jim threw a knee over his thin abdomen and knitted a hand into his curly hair. With no conversation, Jim proceeded to ravish Sherlock's mouth. Sebastian really didn't know what to do. Leaving clearly wasn't the option anymore.  
  
"Now isn't that better?" Jim purred, licking Sherlock's bottom lip. There wasn't an immediate answer.  
  
"Not particularly," Sherlock murmured disinterestedly.   
  
"Really?" Jim answered, bemused.  
  
"It's just kind of wet. Also, you taste like ink."  
  
"What?" Sebastian couldn't help it. It slipped out. Jim glanced over his shoulder.  
  
"Why are you still here? I thought you were going to go lick your wounds. Unless you're waiting for your turn," Jim motioned him away with a flap of his hand. Sebastian left.  
  


Irene & [John]

  
"Hello."  
  
John's skin jumped. He turned rather quickly and was met with a girl who wasn't Sally. The changing room was for sports players only, so being caught in his pants by someone who wasn’t on his rugby team, the only team currently changing clothes, was a surprise for him.. Her being pretty made it a little worse.  
  
"Hello?" John answered rather stupidly.  
  
"Who's this 'Sherlock' fellow?" she asked, flickering the note between her fingers to him. John snatched it away.  
  
"Were you in my locker?" he demanded swiftly, shoving the letter into one of his books and trying not to blush. He didn’t know what it said yet because he was trying to put off reading it for now. Having her read it first made him jealous for reasons he didn’t quite understand.   
  
"No. You dropped it. It was fair gain." She was lying. John was being extremely careful to not let anyone else see the letters Sherlock kept sending him. They were very private! He didn’t need anyone knowing what Sherlock was writing to him.   
  
"Who are you, again?" John covered up, trying not to sneer. He really wasn't in the mood for this.  
  
"Irene Adler." She smiled red lips. "Sorry. I was just looking for my roommate and I happened across that. It is rather, mm, _detailed_ isn't it?"  
  
"Please leave." John insisted, brows slanted down in displeasure and discomfort.  
  
"Sure thing. Point me in the direction of Molly Hooper?"  
  
"Haven't seen her."  
  
"Pity," Irene drew on slowly. She turned and made her way out of the locker changing room. John wasn't sure what to make of her.  
  


[Mycroft] & Molly

  
"Can I have another roommate?!"  
  
Mycroft nearly dropped his tablet. He lowered it slightly to peer at the red-faced girl staring at him.  
  
"Molly? What on earth for? Miss Adler seems like a lovely woman." Mycroft answered calmly, opening up the rooming list to check if her request was even possible.  
  
"I- it's just-" Hooper uttered pitifully. Mycroft glanced to her again, seeing her look down to her toes nervously. She'd embarrassed herself, clearly. Mycroft wasn't too willing to give her a new roommate just because of that.  
  
"It'll be fine, Molly," he promised, smiling politely. Hooper only frowned, though.  
  
"There's nothing you can do?" she asked. That wasn't what he said. There was nothing he _would_ do.  
  
"Tell me what's wrong and I'll see what I can do."  
  
"Well, uh, I," Hooper grabbed at the bottom of her shirt, fiddling with it. "I sort of ran out while we were talking."  
  
"Why?" Not much information there.  
  
"I think she was flirting with me. I know! It's stupid. Irene is so pretty," Hooper sighed. She was worried Irene would undermine her confidence, then. Mycroft didn't doubt Adler had flirted with her, he'd met the girl when she'd been accepted into the school and he knew why she left her old school.  
  
"Why don't you simply tell Miss Adler that it makes you uncomfortable? I'm sure she'll understand and stop." Mycroft promised, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "If she doesn't, let me know and I'll change your room."  
  
"Okay," Hooper breathed softly. She clearly didn't want to, but she wouldn't argue. "Thank you, Mycroft."  
  
"Of course, Molly."  
  


Sherlock & [Sebastian] & Jim

  
Upon returning to Jim and Sherlock’s dorm, Sebastian wasn’t surprised. Should he have been surprised? No. Did anything really surprise him anymore? Not particularly. Sherlock stared him dead in the eye for several excruciating seconds. In nothing more than dainty, frilly, royal purple women’s panties, Sherlock didn’t even flinch.  
  
“Hello Sebastian.” No shame. They had no shame. ‘Walk away’ said a smarter version of Sebastian. ‘Maybe Jim’s wearing red ones’ said the stupid part of Sebastian. ‘Holy shit, Sherlock doesn’t look half bad’ said the even more stupid part of Sebastian.  
  
“Hello Sherlock,” said reality. Sebastian closed the door behind him, slowly dropped his bag beside the door and headed for the shower. Jim popped out a second before hand, freeing up the bathroom and, unfortunately, as suit wearing as he always way. “Jim.”  
  
Jim brushed him off, more interested in getting back to Sherlock with what appeared to be a makeup kit. Sebastian could in no way be held responsible for this. Though he closed the bathroom door behind him, he didn’t exactly expect it to stay closed. He undressed, popping into the slim shower to rinse the sweat from rugby practice off. John had broken up with his girlfriend. It wasn’t exactly usual for him, but this time Sebastian knew it was because of Jim and Sherlock. He could argue that neither forced John to do anything, but the problem was he knew that wasn’t true. They didn’t have to. They were mind fucking little demon people.  
  
“Is red lipstick slutty?” Jim’s head appeared around the curtain, out of the way of the water but very distinctly in the shower.   
  
“You know I can hear you right? You don’t actually have to get in the shower with me.”  
  
“I’m not technically in the shower with you. Besides, I like your cock,” Jim smiled an all too sincere smile. Sebastian showed little reaction.   
  
“Don’t put lipstick on Sherlock,” he deadpanned back.  
  
“Because it’s slutty or because it’s not his colour?”  
  
“Both. Use lip gloss.” He really shouldn’t be helping them, he told himself again as if it would hold up eventually. It never did. He couldn’t really tell Jim ‘no’.   
  
“Oh good. You’re on board,” Jim piped, removing himself from Sebastian’s shower and popping off again. Surely they weren’t planning on making Sherlock approach John like that. That was just asking for trouble. He was hoping Sherlock wasn’t quite ready yet to invoke any physical reaction from the little blonde.   
  
Fortunately, he was right. Upon leaving the shower, Sebastian wrapped a towel around his waist and ruffled his hair with another. He did not like the position Sherlock was in. Not one bit. Nor was he particularly fond of the idea that Jim had used makeup, rather skillfully he might add, to cover up Sherlock’s needle marks and bruises.   
  
“This is a horrible idea,” Sebastian sighed.   
  
“Let me take a picture of your genitals,” Jim answered instead.  
  
“No.” That was an even worse idea. Jim pointed the camera at him momentarily before swishing back to point it at Sherlock.  
  
“Spoilsport.”  
  
“What am I suppose to be doing exactly?” Sherlock questioned curiously, touching his index finger to his bottom lip. The sticky substance on his lips was probably bothersome and new for him. Jim snapped a picture.   
  
“Something sexy,” Jim answered, maneuvering the camera around his neck and approaching the side of the bed. Sebastian pulled on a fresh pair of pants and casual trousers before tossing his towel aside. He sat on the edge of Jim’s bed, running his fingers through his hair and watching the two boys absently. They really were made for each other, tiny Jim and lanky Sherlock. Sebastian knew what Sherlock had tried to explain to him, but it hardly mattered. So what if they destroyed each other? That didn’t mean they were wrong for one another. Jim was obsessed, or perhaps infatuated with Sherlock and Sherlock was, well, Sherlock. Sebastian wasn’t sure Sherlock would ever yearn for someone like Jim did. Like Sebastian did.  
  
“Watson will not find that sexy,” Sebastian commented offhandedly. Jim lowered the camera minutely, glancing between the picture he had just taken and Sherlock watching them with a hint of curiosity.   
  
“And why not?” Jim snipped.  
  
“He’s sitting there like a ragdoll. That’s not sexy,” he continued, though he really wanted nothing more than to shut his mouth. He shouldn’t be helping them, his conscience told him yet again.   
  
“How should I sit, then?” Sherlock prodded. Sebastian fumbled with the proper wording in his head, motioning with his hands for Sherlock to do something no one in the room understood. He sighed.   
  
“Can I-?” he asked reluctantly, rising from the edge of Jim’s bed and moving to touch his little friend. Sherlock gave a small nod of consent. This was so wrong. Sebastian had no business touching a naked Sherlock ever. ‘He’s not naked’, Jim would have said, and Sebastian disagreed. Sherlock was by all means very naked. Carefully, Sebastian maneuvered the petite, slim body into a better position. Less like a ragdoll, he thought, and more like a manikin; expressions and all. He brought Sherlock to the edge of the bed, raising his knees just enough to let his toes point, and drew his back ever so slightly forward. Much to Sebastian’s displeasure, Sherlock’s fair skin was far too feminine, the pale and practically untouched skin being drawn tight over his sharp bones and revealing far too much.  
  
The makeup that came off on Sebastian’s hands shook him out of it, fortunately. He placed Sherlock’s hands on his milky thighs, and drew his chin up just slightly to straighten out his back.   
  
“Part your lips a little and hood your eyes,” because Sebastian was not going to touch Sherlock’s face. This whole situation was bad enough without having to commit such an intimate act. He didn’t need to, though, for Sherlock did just as he was told, most likely drawing from Sebastian’s ‘private’ collection for reference.   
  
“Oh,” Jim purred happily from the other side of his tablet. “That _is_ much better. This will definitely get Watson aroused. It certainly got Sebastian there.”  
  
Go to private school, they said. You’ll get a good education, they said. You’ll make great friends, they said.   
  
“I think I left my mobile in my locker,” Sebastian murmured, making to leave. Jim grabbed a handful of his trousers, holding him back.   
  
“No you didn’t. You need to pose Sherlock again. Don’t try to weasel your way out, Sebby,” Jim snipped swiftly, puckering up his lips at the younger teen. Sebastian held in his frustration. This nightmare could not be over fast enough. “If you’re that desperate, the bathroom’s right there.” If it would ever be over.  
  


[Irene] & Molly

  
The campus of the school wasn’t exactly huge, especially for a private school as fine as this one, but that clearly didn’t mean there weren’t any places to hide. Irene had managed to knock out two tasks in one easy trip. She searched for her new roommate, who had fled much too easily and scoped out the campus. There were some interesting figures at this school, that was for certain. She was positive she was going to like it here. The figures at her old school had been dull and far too easy to upset far too quickly. She’d made too many enemies and much to her misfortune, one of them had finally snipped her in the rear. Of course, it was nothing she couldn’t get herself out of, but it was an unfortunate trigger that would set people off to thinking of other things that she had gotten away with in the past and putting them up for question. It was simply better for everyone that she escaped while she could.   
  
As she returned to her her room, she gave a quick peek around incase, by any means, little Miss Hooper had returned to hide there instead. There was truly no reason to hide from her, but it appeared as though the red faced girl was of the jumpy kind. Irene would remember that for later. She shed from her clothing, first impressions having come and went with them easily and laid them out on her currently coverless bed, just in case she quickly needed them back again. Irene had not now, nor ever would, be ashamed of her body. To be quite honest, she felt more comfortable out of them than in them any day.   
  
She seated herself on the edge of her bed with one neat leg crossed over the other and unpacked her personal little mirror to toy with the edges of her hair. She plucked the pins out one by one and placed them on her little side table. Irene only lifted her eyes minutely when she heard the door open and it was soon followed by a startled gasp.   
  
“Oh!” Molly squeaked a nose that really shouldn’t have been a reachable pitch for any human. “I’m sorry! I should have knocked! I didn’t- I’m sorry!” she stumbled over her words, shielding her eyes with the crook of her arm.   
  
“It’s okay, Molly,” Irene assured her with that voice of silk. “You ran off rather abruptly earlier, dear, I searched everywhere for you.” She could see Molly trying to manage her way around the room blind and soon heard her smack her back on the dresser with a small noise of distress.   
  
“Is everything alright?” Irene asked calmly, placing her mirror down and laying her hands properly on one thigh.  
  
“Y-yes!” Molly yipped back, making a dash for the bathroom, still with her eyes covered and promptly bashed herself right into the door itself.   
  
“Molly,” Irene said carefully, approaching her confidently before deciding better than that and taking a moment to fish out her robe from one of her many bags. She tugged it on and knotted the string loosely. “I can assure you, Molly, my body is hardly any different from yours.” She only made a strangled noise in response, though it was impossible to tell what that noise actually meant. It was actually a rather sweet noise.   
  
“I’ve covered myself,” Irene assured her calmly. Molly peeked carefully out from the corner of her arm to make sure that, in fact, she had done so. She calmed down a little, turning to press her back against the door and making herself seem smaller than she really was, and she was rather small already.  
  
“Mycroft- Mycroft- Mycroft said I should tell you that your- your-” Irene patiently waited for her to manage out her entire sentence. “Your flirting makes me uncomfortable!” Molly finished a little louder than truly necessary to the situation.   
  
“I’m sorry,”  Irene apologised delicately. “I did not know. If you would have just told me, Molly. I will try to refrain from now on, okay?”  
  
“O-oh,” Molly mouthed as if she hadn’t expected the answer at all. “Thank you.”  
  
“Of course, Molly. I want us to get along,” Irene insisted with a small flourish of her head. “I think we can be very good friends.”   
  
“I- y-yeah. I’d like that.”  Perhaps Molly would get her friend after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for lack of updates lately. Bust beta plus lack of muse plus holidays equals dead writer.


	6. Do Anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologises for being unbetaed.

[Pros] & [Cons]

of Breathing

Chapter Six: Do Anything

[Mycroft]

  
To be perfectly honest, there was no part of this of which was alright with Mycroft. It wouldn’t have been the first time Harry tried to ‘set’ him up on a date. They both knew Mycroft had no interest in pursuing a relationship of any kind with anyone anytime soon. Not only was he too busy with his school work and furthermore, the work he put into the school itself, but he wasn’t attracted to anyone in the least at the moment. Harry would certainly know the minute that changed, but as it was, he wasn’t interested in Lestrade or anyone else and the idea that Harry was still pushing this irritated him greatly.  
  
Not that this was the first time Harry had done this. He had done it twice before, each relationship lasting roughly three months each. This did not appear as though it would last any longer. Mycroft had no idea why Lestrade had any interest in him, but it was bound to be fleeting and ignorant. Of course people liked him, Mycroft strived to be a likable person, but that certainly wasn’t who he was. If anything, Lestrade should despise him. Mycroft could still recall their meeting, a physical game that had ended in the other boy’s defeat and rather embarrassment.  
  
If Harry wanted to pursue the other student himself, then he was perfectly free to. There was absolutely no reason to involve Mycroft in the least. The very fact that he was here at all was absolutely amazing. He could have simply told Harry no, perhaps even firmly demanded that he remain out of this, but he didn’t. Instead he sat quietly, waiting at the little shop and more or less focused on the sweets that tempted from for their display.  
  
Mycroft had arrived early for two reasons. One to have some time away from Harry and two; for a breath of fresh air and room to breath before he had to go back to interacting with people. Harry was a good friend and they got along very well, but even the best of friends need space occasionally. Which, unfortunately, brought him to thinking of his brother and the bad influences he had stuck himself to.  
  
No, he had to admit, Moran and Moriarty were not immediately bad influences. In fact, Moriarty was highly intelligent and Moran seemed to have some effect over Sherlock’s bad habits, but when put together, the three of them simply skewed for the worst. However, they were impossible to break apart and Mycroft couldn’t imagine doing so anyways. He was fairly sure that if one was removed, the remaining two would be just as bad as three of them. For now he had to leave it be.  
  
“H-hullo Mycroft,” Lestrade greeted suddenly, breaking Mycroft from his thoughts. He glanced up to the boy. He had at least known to not dress in his rugby uniform. Harry wasn’t in sight.  
  
“Good afternoon, Gregory. Where is Harry?” Mycroft replied patiently, taking his tablet off the table and placing it in his lap as Lestrade took the seat across from him.  
  
“He told me to meet you guys here,” Lestrade hesitated. “I thought he’d be here already.”  
  
“He’ll likely be along soon, then,” Mycroft assured him. Otherwise Harry was going to sleep in the common room for the next week.  
  
“Yeah,” Lestrade murmured absently.  
  


[Sherlock] & Sebastian

  
From his dorm window, Sherlock could see Jim across the way. He appeared to be arguing with someone Sherlock had never seen before, a stranger that looked an awful lot like Jim, only older. He’d been distantly away that Jim had siblings, but he had never thought they’d appear here, let alone acknowledge Jim’s existence. Jim’s own father wouldn’t acknowledge his existence after all, so it only made sense that the others would follow his suit. While that would explain the argument being had, Sherlock wasn’t sure if that was the problem.  
  
The older male was military, that was for sure. He also seemed to be unusually hostile towards Jim without actually being aggressive towards him. Typical Jim behavior. Perhaps it ran in the family. Of course, like Jim, the older man did not remain passive when Jim shoved him back. Immediately, Jim had a hand around his throat, and his supposed brother was holding him firmly.  
  
“J-!” At once, Sherlock covered Sebastian’s mouth with his hand, silencing him all at once. Sebastian shoved it away immediately.  
  
“Shh,” Sherlock instructed calmly. “Jim’s not going to let you help him right now and if you try to, I assure you he won’t be happy. Just watch,” he informed his friend calmly. Sebastian glared at him, clearly unnerved by this situation and unwilling to let it continue. However, Sherlock was almost positive that even if Sebastian went to Jim’s aid, he’d likely have no chance. Though Jim’s brother was small, another family trait it would seem, he would not be so easily brought down by someone like Sebastian.  
  
Almost immediately, the older Moriarty released Jim, shoving him a good step back and glancing around for onlookers. Jim spat at him and received a sharp backhand for his effort. Sebastian tensed. Sherlock wasn’t too worried for Jim, however. He had faced much worse. There was something going on and Sherlock wanted to know what it was. He was positive Sebastian wanted to know, too, and they wouldn’t find out by rushing down and having Sebastian lose a fight with the Moriarty. They probably wouldn’t find out through Jim’s mouth, either.  
  
The older Moriarty brushed passed Jim and walked towards the office, brushing his suit out as he went.  
  
“Come on,” Sherlock murmured, knocking the back of his hand into Sebastian’s chest. “Let’s go.”  
  
“Where are we going?” Sebastian snapped angrily. Sherlock didn’t dignify him with a response. His aggression simply wasn’t going to be helpful right now and thus it deserved no acknowledgement. Still, as expected, Sebastian did as he was told and follow as obediently as he always did. Quickly, Sherlock slipped through the side door of the building and they made a speedy walk to his brother’s ‘office’.  
  
“Sherlock, Sebastian,” Harry greeted them absently. “I’m actually running late already, so unless this is important-”  
  
“Where is Mycroft?” Sherlock urged at one.  
  
“As I said,” Harry sighed. “I am running late. What do you need?”  
  
“A man is going to come in here in a moment and whatever you do, you can not let him take Jim away,” Sherlock demanded, though in reality it came out far more like a beg than he meant it too. Mycroft was far more suited for this, but Harry would have to do.  
  
“What on Earth are you talking about, Sherlock?”  
  
“Please,” Sebastian added in desperately. Sherlock could hear voices in the hall, knowing that they were well out of time to make a decent escape now. He wasn’t fond of the idea of letting either Moriarty find out they were here. He grabbed Sebastian around the arm and yanked him into the closet swiftly, making sure the door was closed. The close quarters put them at an unfortunately touchy position. Sherlock shoved his palm to the underside of Sebastian’s chin, silencing his irritatingly loud breathing and making sure he stayed absolutely still. They could only hope that the older Moriarty wasn’t nearly as observant as the younger.  
  
“Can I help you?”  
  


[Jim] & James

  
Jim wasn’t sure if his brother was being courteous or teasing when he went ahead and alert Jim that he was going to drop by. Like hell he was going to drop by. What the hell was he thinking? He abandoned Sherlock in their room all at once, not bothering to explain anything and Sherlock didn’t even give him a second look. Jim practically ran down to the gates, catching his brother’s arriving just in time. Though he wasn’t sure what his plan had been entirely, since stopping him wasn’t exactly an option.  
  
“What are you doing here James?” Jim hissed angrily, moving to stand in front of his brother. The young man was only a little taller than him, but that certainly didn’t stop him. James simply brushed him aside and continued to walk.  
  
“We really, mm, needn’t discuss this out here,” James answered simply, blue eyes catching Jim’s brown sharply. Jim wasn’t going to have any of that, sure enough. There was a reason he had picked a school far away from his Ireland home and that reason was to be far, far away from his family. What was James even doing here?  
  
“Stop,” Jim snapped angrily, halting his brother in his tracks.  
  
“Still so rude,” James chuckled softly, offering up a bittersweet smile that Jim already knew was anything but charming.  
  
“What are you doing here, James?” Jim growled again, punctuating each syllable to assure that James heard him this time.  
  
“Father’s wife died. You need to attend the funeral,” James stated simply. ‘Wife’, of course, not meaning either of their mothers.  
  
“No,” Jim answered just as bluntly. He wasn’t going anywhere near his father and he wasn’t going anywhere near his father’s wife, whether she was dead or alive. Knowing his father, the only reason he wanted Jim to show up was for appearances and Jim wasn’t interested.  
  
“It’s not a question,” James snipped back, rocking his head minutely to one side. Jim sneered at him. “And if you want your allowance this year, you’d better come along.”  
  
“I don’t need your allowance,” Jim hissed back.  
  
“Oh? So your little thief of a business is making enough for you to afford clothes, books, and food? Or maybe you dipped in a little too much. Though, honestly, if you can go without one of those things, I’d be thoroughly impressed. Maybe you can scrounge around the cafeteria with your little cretin friends like the rat you’ve become,” all spoken with a smile. Jim couldn’t help himself. Angrily, he shoved his brother in the chest, knocking him back nothing but a step. Retribution was instantly. James’ hand snapped around his throat all at once, stifling but not stopping his windpipe.  
  
“I thought for certain you’d, mm, learned something at this pitiful excuse of a school,” James said, no more aggressive in tone than he had been. He shoved Jim away by his throat, making a quick glance around to assure that no one was watching. If it wasn’t known, Jim didn’t like being man handled and he certainly didn’t like being manhandled by his family. He didn’t care or bad, or good, the school was, it was his. He awarded his brother a mouthful of spit to his treasured suit, instantly earning himself a sharp slap, the sound masked by his brother’s glove.  
  
“You feral little mutt,” James scoffed, brushing past his brother and continuing his path to the office. Jim was on his heels at once, ignoring the throb in his face. He had expected nothing less. He wasn’t sure what his brother thought he could do to actually make Jim leave the school, but he wasn’t going to find out, either.  
  
“I will only make a fool of him. You know this,” Jim growled.  
  
“Oh. I do. You forget that I don’t care. If father thinks you will act civilized in front of company, than all the better.”  
  
“You don’t even like him. Why are you here?” Unfortunately, Jim knew better than to think his brother would give up so easily. If he made it seem like too much work, though, he’d have a chance at least.  
  
“I don’t. I, mm, like money though,” James murmured simply. “So unless you suddenly have come into a small fortune, do run along. I don’t accept I owe yous.” Jim only continued to follow. He wasn’t going anywhere even if he had to be physically dragged from the school. He wasn’t entirely sure his father wouldn’t resort to that if he really wanted to. When they came upon the office door, Jim wanted nothing more than to skid in front of it and deny his brother any access, but he knew that would last all of five seconds and would likely only end up with him on the floor.  
  
“Can I help you?” Carruthers asked politely. Of course when he actually needed Holmes’ help, he wasn’t here. Jim wasn’t sure Carruthers was charming enough to outcharm his brother. He could only cross his fingers now.  
  
“Yes. Where is the principal?” James asked nicely enough. Carruthers’ eyes flickered to Jim momentarily before focusing back on the older, but not much taller, brother.  
  
“Our principal does not actually spend a lot of time on the campus. Things around here are mainly student based with the occasional assistance from the staff and vice,” Carruthers explained simply.  
  
“Then where is the vice?”  
  
“Vacation,” came the immediately reply. “As it is the weekend, our president is also absent. I’m sure I can help you with whatever it is you need.”  
  
“Mm,” James made a displeased noise and an even more agitated face. “I require to take Jim out of school for personal matters.” Again, Carruthers’ eyes fell on Jim. Jim mildly shook his head.  
  
“Alright, sure. We can do that,” Carruthers agree, seating himself before the little computer and taking a moment to turn it back on. Surely Carruthers didn’t have any grudges against him that Jim couldn’t recall. There was no reason he’d do anything awful. “You are James Moriarty, correct? Legal guardian?”  
  
“Yes,” James answered simply, slipping a pair of fingers into his pocket to withdraw wallet and show the young man his identification card. God Jim wished his father had given them different names.  
  
“And you’re his father?” Carruthers asked skeptically.  
  
“Legal guardian,” James assured him. There was clearly an air of disbelief, but it wasn’t questioned.  
  
“Very well. How long are you trying to take him out for?”  
  
“Just a week should do.”  
  
“Alright,” Carruthers smiled fondly. He began to search through cabinets of paperwork casually, removing several bundles of files and place them on the desktop with small explanations. “Request of absence of leave papers. Homework request papers. Request to withhold boarding fees. Request to keep dorm. Request to retake tests. Withdraw fees. Then there’s the leave of absence papers, the wash bin withhold, all of which need to be signed by either the principal or vice before he goes anywhere.”  
  
Jim had long since perfected his poker face. Half of that paperwork wasn’t even real. He was curious as to what Carruthers had even piled on the desktop, the pile making up a small novel. James frowned.  
  
“That’s all?” he mused sarcastically. Carruthers smiled. “I don’t suppose there’s any easier way?”  
  
“If you’re trying to bribe me, I hope it’s enough to pay for all the fees that will occur if you don’t fill out this paperwork and the possible lawsuit the school will suffer if they found out I let you go without filling it out properly.” So maybe charming wasn’t so important. Whatever got the job done. James glanced down to his brother with a passive, but clearly annoyed, look. Jim sneered back at him.  
  
“Please, fill them out at your convenience,” Carruthers assured him politely.  
  
“Yes. Thank you. I certainly don’t have the time for such things with everything that’s going on right now. Mm, I suppose you’ll just have to suffer through the grief on your own, James,” James murmured simply.  
  
“Pity,” Jim snipped back. With a dismissive head jerk and a small pat of the front of his suit, James left. Crisis averted.  
  
“Are you okay, Jim?” Carruthers asked once he was gone. Jim rubbed his red cheek with the back of his hand, but it didn’t bother him, not when it was so obvious his brother had lost.  
  
“Yeah. I’m fine. Thank you.”  
  
“Well, just hope he doesn’t find out that was all a lie. Now if you’ll excuse me, Mycroft is going to be painfully upset with me if I don’t hurry,” Carruthers sighed, gathering up his tablet again before making haste out of the room. Jim hovered back a moment, however.  
  
“You can come out,” he scoffed. The closet door cracked open slightly and Sebastian stumbled out first. Sherlock followed far more gracefully. He brushed the wrinkles out of his shirt before focusing on his smaller roommate. No one asked any questions, of course, though there likely wouldn’t have been any answers anyways.  
  
“Hurry up. I hope we didn’t miss Watson opening the pictures.”  
  


Let’s Meet Mycroft

[Lestrade]

  
“Oi, hey,” Greg snapped rather quickly. He couldn’t help it. He was still riled up from practice and he had already been sick of this before today. It was well know through the school that Holmes and his little cabin boy Carruthers were running for school president and vice and Greg simply did care about any of it even a little bit. Holmes was a prat basically all the time no matter how nice he acted toward everyone and the other one, who Greg couldn’t even remember the name of, was a dunce at the best of times. Greg had no plans of voting for either of them and he definitely didn’t want them or their bloody posters in his locker room.  
  
“You cane’t hang those in here. Sports members only.”  
  
“‘Cane’t?’” Carruthers giggled at Holmes’ side, curling his fingers over his mouth. Greg shot him a glare and Holmes absently glanced at his friend over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but you ‘cane’t’ tell me that’s not cute.”  
  
“I’m gonna break his nose,” Greg stated to no one in particular.  
  
“Greg, no,” Paul insisted immediately, but he made no attempt to actually stop his friend. It was Carruthers own fault for deciding to prod at Greg’s sore spot. Greg had just barely passed the test accepting him into the school. If he hadn’t excelled in rugby, there was a good chance they wouldn’t have accepted him at all and his accent spoke to that. Most people didn’t even notice it, but Greg did and he hated it. Holmes was quick to stand in front of his friend, immediately protecting him.  
  
“You won’t be placing a hand on him,” assured Holmes immediately. “This locker room is shared by many more than just you, Mr. Lestrade-”  
  
“Don’t ‘Mr. Lestrade’ me, you bloody prat.”  
  
“And while you may not care for me, that is not going to stop me from going about my own business. There is nothing in the handbook preventing me from distributing my flyers here,” Holmes continued on in a much more friendly way than he needed to. This was what grated Greg’s nerves so badly.  
  
“Is there anything in that bloody handbook about me breaking yer face?” Greg growled back, naturally bringing himself up in an aggressive manner that simply didn’t affect Holmes whatsoever.  
  
“Several, in fact,” came the blunt reply. “You are unnecessarily aggressive towards me. I apologise for whatever I have done to you unwittingly, but this can not continue. If the locker rooms are for sports members only, will I be allowed in if I beat you at, what is it? Rugby?”  
  
Greg snorted. It wasn’t that his team was unbeatable by any means. They were good, sure, and technically many of them were ‘the best’ simply because they were here on sport scholarships. No, he snorted because Holmes was tiny. Greg would be absolutely amazed if he had ever even picked up a ball in his life.  
  
“Ya have enough players?” he insisted pointedly. Carruthers was on it immediately.  
  
“Harriet Watson, Sebastian Wilkes, Ella Thompson, Mike Stamford, and Gin Lyons,” he listed off from his tablet simply. Greg nearly scoffed again. Watson was the least coordinated people at this school, Wilkes was a prick, Thompson probably knew about as much as Holmes did, and Stamford had absolutely no stamina. That meant the only two people that had any chance was Carruthers and Lyons.  
  
“I think that should be enough. Seven against seven? We win and you let go of this petty little dislike. You win and I’ll be sure to stay clear of the lockers and you for the rest of our stay here. Deal?” Holmes made his offered and it certainly wasn’t a bad one. There were certainly no ulterior motives behind it, which Greg found to be weird really.  
  
“Oh, and you’ll owe us one favor,” Carruthers added in. There it was. Greg glared at him. “An vise versa, of course.”  
  
“Favor?” Greg repeated.  
  
“Honestly, it’ll be more like me doing you a favor, but still,” he promised, though it wasn’t the least bit specific. It didn’t matter too much, now did it? Greg didn’t plan on loosing.  
  
“Fine. Deal.”  
  
There were several things Greg hadn’t known going into this match and if he was honest, even if he had known them, he still probably wouldn’t have believed it. Greg had not scored a single point. He had, however, earned more than his fair share of bruises. He had thought Holmes would be against getting his hands dirty; he wasn’t. He had thought Holmes had put together the most half baked team possible; he hadn’t. He had thought that it would be an quick and easy game; it was, just not for him.  
  
Watson was quicker and heavier than she let on to be with legs that could claim possession of a maul with ease. Wilkes was a prick, but bloody hell if he wasn’t a quick and nimble one. Thompson played with her uncle, a professional rugby player, every weekend. No one got past Stamford. Lyod had definitely gotten better since his try out. Not only was Holmes a master strategist, he was quick and his size didn’t suit the power behind it. Greg was positive that his little team wouldn’t have been able to pull off such a game if Mycroft hadn’t been commanding them.  
  
Mycroft offered his hand to help Greg up after Watson had secured the last point.  
  
“Bitches love me cause they know that I can rock,” Watson sang, dancing with two of her teammates at the end of the field. Even then, Greg wasn’t a sore loser. He accepted the hand gladly, hoisting himself to his feet and brushing himself off. He rubbed the back of his head coyly.  
  
“Good game,” Greg murmured, clearly already regretting his earlier attitude. Mycroft offered a small nod in return.  
  
“You as well. I did win our deal, however,” he noted calmly.  
  
“Bloody hell, yeah you did,” Greg chuckled in reply. Carruthers joined them calmly. “I should say sorry for my behavior earlier. I really ain’t mean any ah’it,” he assured them with a much friendlier tone. “So, sorry.”  
  
“I should also apologise,” Carruthers insisted. “Mycroft has informed me that you’re sensitive about your accent. I was not aware of this and it was not my intention to make you feel subpar about it. I am sorry.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it. Hey, you guys are welcome by any time, alright? Hang up all the posters you want,” Greg promised. It was an unsaid part of their deal, yes, but he also had a newfound respect for the little posh git.  
  
“Gregory,” Mycroft stated calmly. “It is not my intention now, nor ever, to remove funding from any of the athletic teams at this school.” As it was, Greg had never voiced this concern. It was a stupid concern, after all. However Mycroft knew that, or why ever he said it, Greg was glad he did. That was more of a weight off his shoulders than he could imagine.  
  
“Thanks. That means alot ta me, really. I’m going to have a chat with some of the other captains,” Greg added on pleasantly, rotating his shoulder in its socket as he glanced over his team.  
  
“Oh, and our favor,” Carruthers reminded him. Greg frowned slightly. He wasn’t entirely sure what was wanted from him and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out, either. “Next year Harry’s little brother is going to be coming to the school. He’ll make a good co-captain. I’m sure once you see him play, Dimmock won’t mind.”  
  
“I’ll be sure to consider it.”  
  
The following year, Greg met John Watson. Though his accent faded with each passing day at the school, Greg’s respect for Mycroft did not.  
  


Molly & Henry & [John] & Irene

  
“Hades said to give this to you,” a student, one of which John didn’t know the name of, handed him a envelope. John really didn’t want it, but he accepted it all the same. Before the student left, however, John grabbed him around the arm.  
  
“Hey. They have names, you know,” he insisted quietly, but firmly. The boy yanked out of his grip.  
  
“Whatever. Just keep your freaky little boyfriends away from me,” he snapped. It was pretty clear Jim had said something to the boy to make him so upset. John decided to talk to Sebastian about that. He turned back to the table, glancing over the unmarked envelope. At least it wasn’t from Sherlock. Henry looked at him skeptically.  
  
“Do you really think you should open that right now?” he warned cautiously. Henry probably had a point. Surely Jim wouldn’t send him anything bizarre though, right? It would have had to be a joke, anyways. Part of him was still sure this whole thing with Sherlock was a joke. However, for whatever reason, he felt compelled to open it all the same. Thinking back on it, he probably should have waited until he was in the privacy of his own room first and not the only partially empty dining room. There was a sweet whistle from behind him and immediately, John shoved the pictures back into the envelope.  
  
“My, my, someone has a very nice complexion _all over_ ,” the young woman purred. She was the exact same one who had appeared in the locker room just the other day; Irene Adler. John glared her down as she helped herself to the empty seat beside him. He could already tell this was going to be a strained relationship that he didn’t want. Molly sat beside Henry with a friendly smile.  
  
“Is there a reason you keep invading my privacy?” John snipped angrily, shoving the envelope into his coat pocket.  
  
“Perhaps you should stop bringing your private into public,” she answered, leaning over him far more than she needed to. John refused to back away from her. There was something about her that he simply didn’t like and he wasn’t going to heed to it.  
  
“Right. You’re still insistent that you found that letter on the ground, then,” he reminded her sharply.  
  
“I did, love,” she promised. John still didn’t believe her, either. “So then, these letters are from your boyfriend? Aren’t you a lucky boy?”  
  
“Yes,” John answered immediately before his thought process caught up with his need to shove her away. “I mean no. He’s not my boyfriend. I mean-” bloody hell, what even was Sherlock to him now. He hadn’t had time to honestly think about it yet, especially now. Why was Moriarty sending him naked pictures of Sherlock? For crying out loud. “It’s complicated and frankly, none of your business.”  
  
“Alright, alright, don’t get so defensive about it,” Adler promised.  
  
“Irene,” Molly murmured nervously in that soft voice of hers. Irene rolled her head away calmly, making a small roll of her eyes in the process. She turned her sights on Henry with an elegant smile.  
  
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Irene Adler,” Adler introduced politely, holding her hand out in such a way that insisted Henry kiss it. Henry had no idea what to do with it, however, instead shaking her dainty fingers awkwardly in his larger hand. She was only slightly confused.  
  
“I’m Henry Knight. You’re the new student, right?” he smiled friendly enough. John already felt a tad betrayed, though he knew he had right to be. Henry was just naturally friendly was all. Not that Henry had to like and dislike the same people as him. What was wrong with him lately?  
  
“Mm, that’s me,” Adler answered seductively. She had to be new to even consider trying to flirt with Henry. Henry was more dedicated to his boyfriend than Moran was to Moriarty. John kind of wanted to send her on Moriarty just to see what would happen and get her out of his hair.  
  
“So you’re Molly’s new roommate,” Henry smiled. He brought an arm around Molly’s shoulders, squeezing her softly. “That’s good. I was worried she’d have to be lonely all year.”  
  
“Oh certainly not. I’m hoping we’ll be very good friends,” Adler flickered her eyes over Molly again. At once, Molly blushed a bright shade of red. It wasn’t exactly unusual for her, though. She was easily embarrassed and her pale skin made her blush obvious immediately. Fortunately for Molly, and unfortunately for John, the conversation changed abruptly. “Look who it is. You’re ‘it’s complicated’.”  
  
Of course Sherlock had to show up now. John wasn’t even sure if he could count on Sherlock not trying to speak to him in public or not. In fact, John was entirely sure he had lost any and every resemblance of a grip on this situation a long time ago. He got the letters to stop, but only for pictures. He still wasn’t sure what Sherlock had done to Anderson. Not to mention that very stupid kiss that John still regretted to his very core. He wasn’t sure how Sherlock had done that, either, and John had no idea what he had been thinking at the time. They were playing mindgames with him and he was just walking into all of them like a bloody idiot.  
  
John couldn’t stifle his groan that bloomed on his lips when they trio started towards them, lead by Sherlock if his misfortune could get any worse.  
  


Sherlock & [Jim] & Irene

  
“Who the bloody hell is that?” Jim yipped louder than he had meant to. Fortunately, no one seemed to hear in the crowded cafeteria. It was obvious he was more involved in this plan than Sherlock was, but he didn’t care. This was fun and until it stopped being fun he was going to continue to push Sherlock into Watson’s arms. If anyone got in the way, they would find out how much not fun they would be having. Sherlock shrugged absently at his side. Of course he didn’t know, and Jim didn’t expect him to. Sherlock didn’t bother knowing anyone.  
  
“She might be the new student?” Sebastian suggested. “Henry was talking about it awhile ago, I think. Dunno ‘er name.” As helpful as he always way. Why was it Sebastian never knew when Jim actually needed him to know something? Because he was an idiot. There, he answered his own question. “She’s pretty,” Sebastian added on absently. Idiot.  
  
“She’s flirting with Watson. Go punch her Sebastian. In the face,” Jim insisted, swinging his hand into the larger boy’s thigh.  
  
“How can you even tell from here. And no, I’m not going to punch her in the face, Jim,” Sebastian puffed back. He crossed his arms in that way he did when he wasn’t going to be convinced otherwise as if it actually mattered. Jim could always convince him otherwise. Sebastian wouldn’t dare say no to him.  
  
“Why? Because she’s pretty or because she’s a girl?” Jim scowled back.  
  
“She is rather pretty,” Sherlock murmured absently, but he was put aside at the moment.  
  
“Because you’re insane,” Sebastian growled. “I’m not punching her anywhere just because you think she’s flirting with someone you don’t even care about. I’m not punching anyone.”  
  
“God you’re useless,” Jim scoffed, primping his collar as he thought. “Fine. Watson’s kissed you, you had a date, group or not, simple. It wouldn’t really be all that far fetched if you simply assume that you and he were boyfriends now and continued to think so until he said so otherwise.”  
  
“Jim,” Sebastian offered up in his pointless way that suggested Jim was going over his nonexistent line. Jim ignored him.  
  
“What does that entail, exactly?” Sherlock had to question.  
  
“Alright. Here. Go sit next to him, touch him a little, and kiss his cheek. Got it?”  
  
“Yeah,” came the bland, sheep like reply. In the end, though, Sherlock would do as he saw fit. He started for the table and Jim quickly followed. However, Sebastian stopped him first, grabbing a hold of his arm gently.  
  
“Jim,” he said calmly. “Are you alright?”  
  
“What?” Jim answered sharply. Leave it to Sebastian to set the timing of their plan off. Of course he was alright? When he ever not alright?  
  
“Your ‘legal guardian’,” Sebastian reminded him. Jim ground his teeth in his skull. He should have known this was about that. “He said something about grief?”  
  
“Oh my god, you’re actually trying to do this, aren’t you?” Jim laughed. “Moran, no. Just no, baby.” And he continued to laugh as he caught up with Sherlock. Sebastian was only a few steps behind. Sherlock sat beside Watson, as he was pointed out to do, and wrapped his hand around his upper arm.  
  
“After noon, John,” he breathed softly, pressing a soft kiss against his plump cheek. At once, Watson stiffened, but he didn’t shove, or even nudge, Sherlock away. However, he didn’t force a smile either, not that anyone particularly cared. Jim gladly sat himself beside the new student and Sebastian beside Molly. They smiled at once another.  
  
“I thought it was complicated,” she purred, glancing past Watson. It was at that point that Watson essentially gave up any hope he had, dropping his head to his tray of food and remaining there. Fortunately that gave her and Sherlock more room to speak.  
  
“Only to the idiots,” Jim assured her and she glanced back to him. It wasn’t as fond as the look she held for Sherlock, however.  
  
“You must be Jim,” she insisted affectionately. “That’s _clearly_ Sherlock. Which means you’re Sebastian, no? I am Irene Adler. Pleasure’s mine.”  
  
“Only yours, really,” Jim rattled off with a charming smile. Adler only smiled back, clearly insulted but unwilling to show it. She assured him she wasn’t going to stand for it by averted her attention back to Sherlock and both irritating and amusing Jim.  
  
“I have to say, you look better with clothes on,” Adler complemented, leaning on Watson’s back gently to bring herself closer to Sherlock. Watson stiffened slightly and so did Sebastian, though for two opposite reasons, of course. Sherlock, however, had no shame and certainly didn’t care who saw the photos and thus neither of them were required to do anything.  
  
“It’s clearly the opposite for you,” Sherlock mimicked her tone to the key.  
  
“I didn’t expect you to be so forward.” Adler reached a hand out to him, but they didn’t touch.  
  
“I’m not,” came the assurance. “While you clearly have no qualms with clothing, as long as it’s nice I’m assuming, you’re clearly much more comfortable out of them.”  
  
“You’re sure this has nothing to do with trying to see me naked?”  
  
“If I was interested in seeing a woman, or man for that matter, nude, I would simply browse through Sebastian’s collection,” Sherlock assured her. Sebastian only gave a heavy sigh. Really he needed to stop having dirty laundry to air. Not that Jim actually thought he cared if people knew, he only put on a show as if it would change Sherlock’s attitude.  
  
“So why is it that you’re so sure I’m a nudist?” Adler pressed forward, begging for a reply. She’d probably heard rumors of him.  
  
“I never said ‘nudist’, I simply stated that you’re more comfortable out of your clothes than in them. I saw.” Sebastian bit back a retort to warn Sherlock to rephase his meaning, but he clearly knew better than intrude in on their little moment.  
  
“So you’re a peeping tom?”  
  
“No. You’ve misunderstood. I didn’t see _you_ , I saw the evidence. Your shirt has a crease in it along the bottom where you rested it on your bed. You just arrived. All your clothes will have fold lines in them but not this one. You ironed it this morning and placed it on your bed while you prepared instead of directly putting it on. Your shirt and your bra, that I can very plainly see, don’t have the slightest trace of makeup on them, but your skin does. You can see the speckles of your foundation on your cleavage that doesn’t entirely match your skin. I assume that Molly doesn’t care for your nudity, of which you hope to change and I wish you the best of luck, so you wear a towel around your waist while she’s about. Molly won’t look at you and if she absolutely has to, not below the neck. There’s imprints of the texture on your hips, that I can also plainly see, where it bit into your skin. That’s simply in the privacy of your own room though, isn’t it? You transferred here in the middle of the year, but why? Your parents both have stable jobs, so it’s not because of a move. No, something happened at your old school that could be helped. You didn’t have dorms there, you forgot your key, so it was a public school. So then, what could you have done? You’re a very provocative young woman, Ms. Alder, so I can’t say I’d be wrong to guess that you’ve had your fair share of sex. This was likely frowned upon at your old school, which is why this one was such an obvious choice. That wouldn’t be enough to get you kicked out or make you uncomfortable enough to leave. Your sexuality is irrelevant. If I had to guess, I would say it had to do with one of your teachers. He must have caught you nude outside of your home. Someone must have seen and rumors began. You and your parents decided that it would simply be better to chance schools. Did they call you a homewrecker? Though you didn’t have intercourse with him and likely had no plans to.The new entry fee allowed you in without having to test. How’d I do?” Sherlock rattled out one sentence after another, not breaking eye contact all the while.  
  
Unlike most people, she wasn’t phased. Instead, she smiled of all things. Perhaps she was a friend rather than a menace. Then again, Sherlock was so flirting with her and Jim, unsurprisingly, didn’t like that. What right did she have to flirt with Sherlock? If it didn’t stop, and soon, he’d get rid of her.  
  
“Right on all accounts, _Mr. Holmes_ , right now to the ‘homewrecker’. You guessed that, didn’t you?” Adler insisted with an affection twist of the lips. Sherlock actually smiled back, quirking a brow in a sudden bloom of emotion that was rare to the student’s face.  
  
“Yeah, but it was a good one.” They were totally flirting with each other. Had Sherlock ever flirted with someone without motive? Jim wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it. This had to stop. As it was, however, he didn’t need to stop it. Before he could even make a plan to stop it, Watson sat back up, knocking Adler off his back all together.  
  
“That was brilliant,” he informed out of the blue. Sherlock’s reaction made it clear this wasn’t the first time Watson had said so. Immediately after the initiation reaction, however, Sherlock stiffened. It was painfully clear to Jim, and likely Sebastian, that Sherlock was foreboding to something. That something, obviously, was a kiss. Watson was particularly quick about bringing a hand around Sherlock’s neck and embracing him swiftly. There were definitely some mixed signals going on here.  
  
Sebastian’s instincts took over immediately. It was likely, Jim mused, that Sebastian wasn’t entirely aware of them. Sherlock had made it clear that he didn’t like kissing, and Jim certainly hadn’t been able to convince him otherwise, and to Sebastian, Watson was willfully ignoring Sherlock’s decisions. That wasn’t the case, of course, Watson was just dumb as bricks. All the same, Sebastian managed to break them apart with a loud clearing of his throat.  
  
Watson’s regret was instantaneous. His face lit up a colour red that rivaled even Molly’s and he was immediately on his feet. Without another word, either to his friends or strangers, he briskly parted from the room. Henry was after him in a moment.  
  
“John? John wait!”  
  
“So it is complicated,” Adler chuckled, brushing her fingers over the underside of her throat. Sherlock tried not to make it obvious that he was wiping Watson off of his mouth. “I don’t blame him. Intelligence is sexy.”  
  
“Irene,” Molly murmured again. This entire happening had clearly put her off her meal. Jim was honestly surprised her nose wasn’t gushing yet. “Can we go now, please,” she begged softly.  
  
“Oh yes. I’m sorry, Molly. I got distracted. Please, lead the way,” Adler nodded in agreement, gracing her fingers over Sherlock’s shoulder as she stood and the two parted once again leaving just the three.  
  
“Wasn’t expecting that,” Sebastian grunted sourly, turning his eyes back to Sherlock to make sure he was alright.  
  
“Looks like Watson really does find intelligence sexy. Perhaps you should start merging yourself into this identity. See what results it heeds.”  
  
“That means he’s going to kiss me again,” Sherlock drew the obvious conclusion.  
  
“Oh,” Jim mimicked Adler flawlessly. “He looks like he’s an excellent kisser.”  
  
“So wait, is Adler friend or foe?” Sebastian asked. “I didn’t follow any of that.”  
  


Mycroft & [Greg] & Harry

  
[Henry Knight] [17:23] John’s freaking out. He won’t come out of the closet.  
  
[Henry Knight] [17:25] I meant that in a literal way. He’s locked himself in the closet.  
  
“Gregory?” Harry questioned curiously when Greg took a moment too long to check his mobile. He knew it was rude and he shouldn’t have, but Henry nearly never texted him. He was always texting Martin too text anyone else.  
  
“Oh. Uh, sorry, I just,” Greg stuttered without the slightest bit of elegance. He needed to go help John, but he didn’t want to abandon his date. They were only halfway through their meal, though so far their ‘date’ had consisted mostly of Greg listening to the two of them talk about school stuff that made very little sense to Greg. Still, he liked it. It was pleasant.  
  
[Henry Knight] [17:26] I think he’s hyperventilating.  
  
“I’m sorry. I have to go,” he informed quickly, hastily placing his napkin over his food and rising from the little table. Mycroft’s pale green eyes fell on him suspiciously.  
  
“What’s wrong, Gregory?” Mycroft noted calmly. Greg really hoped they wouldn’t mind. God, leave it to him to ruin his first date like outing. His friends were more important, though. John was more important. If he found out one of those psychopaths were behind this, he was going to break their fucking neck.  
  
[Henry Knight] [17:29] Greg?  
  
“Something’s wrong with John. I really have to go. I’m really sorry. This was wonderful though, thank you. I- here-” he placed his wallet on the tabletop, already anxious to leave. “Pay whatever. Again, sorry.” Greg was already backing away before he finished, not waiting for a reply before turning and taking off towards the school.  
  
[me] [17:31] I’m on my way.  
  
John had only done this once before and that, fortunately, had very little to do with him. When he came back from holiday, he hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone so he didn’t. Nearly a week later, Greg found him crying in the closet. Apparently, while on holiday, John’s parents and his sister got into a huge fight. Greg still wasn’t sure what the fight was about but it had left quite the mark on John. He hadn’t wanted to talk it out, just for it to be over. Fortunately his older sister had appeared and locked everyone out of the room for the night. John had been better in the morning, though he was still obviously against speaking to anyone for a few days, so Greg hadn’t minded sleeping on Henry’s floor.  
  
He had no idea what he would do now, though. Surely this had nothing to do with his sister and Greg wasn’t sure he’d be able to help. He’d do everything he could, of course, he just hoped it would be enough.


	7. Cigarettes

[Pros] & [Cons]

of Breathing

Chapter Seven: Cigarettes

"It's just like a cigarette, nobody's really fooled. I don't want the truth, I wanna feel fucking cool."

Jim & [Sebastian] & Sherlock

  
“Well I hope you two are happy,” Sebastian scoffed sharply, brushing his fingers over the curve where his dirty blond hair met his ear, exactly where he would have kept a cigarette for times like these. He held his mobile in his other hand, haphazardly leaned against the cafeteria table. “Ya broke Watson.”  
  
“Broke?” Jim mused back, though he certainly didn’t appear interested. Sherlock was still in a bit of a daze, the kind of daze where he knew exactly what was happening but he choose to ignore all of it in favor of pondering his own thoughts. It was unclear whether he was pondering about Adler or Watson, however. Sebastian may not have been as smart as them, as they continued to remind him, but he certainly knew attraction when he saw it. Leave it to Sherlock to get a crush on someone like that. She was lesbian or asexual or something? Sebastian had kept up with none of that.   
  
“Well let’s see, the first message Knight sends reads ‘Impromptu meeting outside of John and Greg’s room. Asap’ sent to all of Watson’s little friends. Then immediately, ‘Sorry Sebastian. Not you. I think you’ve done enough for today’. Just to me. So yeah, Jim. I think maybe you fucked Watson up just a smidge,” Sebastian growled shoving his mobile back into his back.   
  
“Smidge?” Jim repeated. “Who uses ‘smidge’?” No, not interested in the least.   
  
“For fuck’s sake, Jim, you realise John is a real life, living breathing person with feelings and emotions, right?” This wouldn’t be the first time they had this argument, but it was probably the first time Sebastian actually felt outraged by his behavior. When was Jim going to be old enough to realise things like this would not fly in the real world. One day he was going to do something terrible and someone was going to kill him for it.   
  
“I didn’t make him kiss Sherlock,” Jim answered with that irritated tone of his. “In fact, I didn’t make Watson do anything. If he didn’t want to do it, then he didn’t have to. I didn’t bloody threaten him. Hell, I’ve barely even talked to him.”  
  
“Don’t fucking play that, Jim. You _know_  you’re responsible for this. I don’t fucking know how, but you are. You play those stupid fucking physiological games and somehow make him do something he doesn’t actually want to do and I want you to stop,” demanded Sebastian, bashing the side of his fist angrily into the tabletop. Jim didn’t dignify him with an answer which was just as bad as a ‘no’ and worst than a ‘fuck you’.   
  
“What even is your deal with John? Sherlock literally could not give two shits about him, but you’re so fucking obsessed about this. If I didn’t fucking know any better, I’d say this was some convoluted fucking mating ritual. Is that it Jim? Are you trying to fuck John Watson?” Still, Sebastian got no reply. Perhaps Jim had tuned him out or maybe he was simply being ignore, but either way Sebastian had enough of it. He’d had enough of all of this. With an enraged growl, he slammed his palms onto the table, making it rattle and causing the cafeteria to go quiet. This was where rumors started. Sherlock and Jim looked up to him, but neither of them offer even the slightest hints of guilt or regret.   
  
That was it. That was the last fucking straw and he was done with all of this bullshit. Uncaring of the eyes on him, Sebastian stormed out of the building and headed straight for John’s room.   
  
Many stories depict Zeus as thinking himself better than his brother, lashing out and causing more damage apart than they could together. However, Sebastian Moran is not Zeus, James ‘Jim’ Moriarty not Hades, nor Sherlock Holmes Poseidon. No, for a teenager’s wrath is far more potent than that of a god’s.   
  


John & [Greg] & Sebastian & friends

  
Greg wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t the entire group of them waiting outside of his dorm like some sort of worried flock. Sally, of course, was the first to get onto him, barely giving him enough time to approach them before she had her finger in his chest.   
  
“I _told_  you. Holmes and bloody Moriarty and hell, Moran, too. They’re bad. They are up to nothing good and now look what they did to John. Someone better do something soon before _I_  do,” she snapped. It was unfortunate, but Greg knew she was right. To be fair, he hadn’t thought things would get this far. He’d also warned John to take things slow and care; that had clearly not gone well.   
  
“Look,” he insisted quickly, brushing her hand away. “I don’t even know what’s going on. Just wait a goddamn minute.” Sally bristled at him, but said nothing more, simply crossing her arms over her chest angrily and turning away. He slipped into the room, quietly closing the door behind him and immediately was met with the site of Henry trying to persuade John out of the wardrobe.   
  
“John please. You have to talk to us at least. We want to help you,” Henry insisted, jiggling the handle slightly. The door didn’t budge and there was no reply. Greg could hear the elevated noise of John’s breathing through the wood.   
  
“He won’t come out. At this point, I’m not honestly sure he can even hear me. I think he’s worked himself into some sort of stupor,” Henry sighed, rubbing at the back of his head nervously. He seemed to still be working his confidence back up from the dog incident.   
  
“What happened?” That would be a good place to start as any.   
  
“Well we went to go have something to eat and John got a letter from Moriarty and I think they were, er, nude of uh, Holmes. Not your Holmes. Sherlock Then that new girl, Irene Adler? And Molly came to sit with us and John bickered with Irene and I think she might have been flirting with him? John was not having any of it but I’m not entirely clear on that point. Then Sebastian and came and sat with us and Holmes kissed John on the cheek and was being all weird and affection. Then Holmes started flirting with Irene. I definitely know they were flirting and he did that weird thing he does where he noticed everything and she was like really into it I guess. Then John kissed Holmes like really intensely on the mouth and ran away and now he’s in the closet. That’s the short version, at least,” the answer came as quickly as Henry could manage it without depriving himself of air or Greg of information.   
  
“Wait. John kissed him? Not the other way around?” Why on earth would John do that?  
  
“John kissed _him_. I’m not entirely sure Holmes wanted to be kissed, let alone kiss him. I’m not an expert on Holmes, though. They probably would have gone on for a while if Sebastian hadn’t stopped them,” Henry assured him. This was also painfully weird, really. Even now, Greg had no idea what was going on. Something was going on through John’s head, though, and he was sure John understood it just about as much as anyone else did.   
  
“Where’s his sister?” Greg pursued on.   
  
“Clara’s looking everywhere for her. I don’t think anyone’s seen her in a couple days.” Henry frowned patiently. Greg wasn’t sure if he could do this. He would try everything he could, but there was no guarantee John even wanted to talk to him. John had always been the distant sort of lad.   
  
“John?” he tried tentatively, taking Henry’s spot outside the wardrobe. “Are you alright?” No reply. “Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
“Bloody hell! Can’t I just have some peace and quiet for a few fucking minutes! There’s nothing wrong with me!” John finally yelped. Greg carefully reeled back. For a moment, he stayed quiet, trying to give his friend a pause to calm himself.   
  
“Do you want us to leave, John?” he asked softly. There wasn’t immediately an answer, but when there was, it was quiet and apologetic.  
  
“N-no,” John murmured. Greg sat himself on the floor.   
  
“You don’t have to lock yourself in there to be alone, John.” There wasn’t any answer for an extended period of time. Greg patiently waited for one, but John clearly wasn’t going to say anything more at the moment.   
  
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Greg assured him quietly. John still offered not reply. “If you like Sherlock, then that’s fine. Or if you still like Sarah. Or Sally. Or Molly. Or Henry. Or me,” he added in jokingly. John didn’t laugh. “It’s all fine.”  
  
“I’m not gay,” John answered stubbornly.   
  
“Are you bisexual?” Greg offered up.   
  
“No,” came the answer as stubborn and sharp as the last. Greg glanced to Henry pointedly.   
  
“Asexual, pansexual, demisexual, polysexual,” Henry listed off.  
  
“Hetrosexual. I am hetrosexual,” John snapped, making it very clear he was becoming annoyed and irritated.   
  
“Also perfectly fine,” Greg insisted just as quickly.   
  
“Hetrosexual and biromatic?” Henry tied his best to be helpful, but it honestly wasn’t helping much.   
  
“Hetrosexual and hetroromantic and hetroeverything else. Woman. I like women,” John promised firmly and unwaveringly.   
  
“Okay,” Greg said quietly, allowing another pass of silence to calm everything down again. He listened to John let out a puff of air that hopefully held his irritation. “You know they’re just labels, right? It doesn’t matter if you fit into any of them. They mean pretty much jack squat.”   
  
“Greg,” John hissed. “I’m _straight_.”  
  
“Yeah, you keep saying. So maybe then, that’s kind of the problem? I mean, you did sort of kiss Sherlock. I’m pretty sure this is like the second time now that you kissed him? If you like him, then who cares what you are? Do whatever makes you happy, John,” Greg tried to give his argument weight, but he was fairly sure he was only falling on his face. John murmured something he could hear and he leaned closer. “I didn’t hear that.”  
  
“ _My parents care._ ”  
  
“Bleedin’ hell, John, is that what this is all about? Isn’t your sister gay, though? Oh god that’s what made you freak out last time, isn’t it?” John didn’t answer. Greg felt more than a little insensitive now. What was he supposed to say to that? That John shouldn’t care what his own parents thought of him? That if they couldn’t accept him, fuck them? He looked to Henry desperately for some help and Henry could only shrug painfully unhelpfully.   
  
“I- John,” Greg murmured guiltily. “You know what they say. ‘Those who mind, don’t matter and those who matter, don’t mind. I don’t mind, John. And Henry doesn’t mind and Paul doesn’t mind, or Sally or Sylvian, or Sebastian, or Molly, or Mycroft, or Sarah, or your sister, or Mike, or Sherlock, or anyone. There is an entire school of people who don’t mind who you’re attracted to. Maybe- maybe you’re happiness is more important John?” John was eerily quiet for a moment.   
  
“Maybe,” he finally answered lowly. All too suddenly, Henry jumped at a noise Greg couldn’t hear from where he sat. Greg raised a brow at him suspiciously, but Henry had his head out of the door in a heartbeat.   
  
“Ah! You fucking cow! What is your fucking problem!” That was definitely Sebastian’s voice.   
  
“You are, you fucking knob!” And Sally. “Do it, I fucking dare you!”  
  
“Look!” Sebastian growled loudly. “I just need to talk to Watson, so why don’t you step the fuck off.”  
  
“John doesn’t want to talk to you,” Sally hissed back. Henry was wise enough to get out of the way before Sebastian knocked him out of the way. Sally was right behind him with the intention of getting into an altercation with him and the others close behind. It was already painfully clear on Sebastian’s face where she had hit him, his eyes beginning to swell angrily and flushing bright red. Greg couldn’t help but smirk. He hopped to his feet as soon as Sebastian started toward him.   
  
“Where is Watson?”   
  
“Now isn’t the best time, Sebastian,” Greg assured him firmly. As intimidating as Sebastian’s size was, it clearly didn’t work on them very well. No one really needed to tell him where John was, unfortunately. After all, he was basically the caretaker of the two boys who had hidden in far worse places far more often.   
  
“Get out of the fucking wardrobe, Watson,” Sebastian grunted, banging his fist on the side of it.   
  
“Knock it off Moran,” Greg hissed. “I think you and your friends have done enough for today.”  
  
“It’s about Sherlock,” he continued rather insistently.   
  
“Can we talk about this later?” John nearly begged. Unfortunately, Sebastian’s temper was unusually short today.   
  
“You have three seconds to get out of there before I knock it over,” Sebastian barked back. Reluctantly, the wardrobe opened and John climbed out. Fortunately, he didn’t seemed as though he had been crying at all and even had collected himself a little. Face to face, Sebastian hesitated. He glanced back at the group of their friends before turning back to John.   
  
“Alright, look, Sherlock really doesn’t give a fuck about you. He never has. I’m actually kind of surprised he even knew your name before any of this. It’s not Sherlock’s fault, though. He’s the most apathetic little prick I’ve ever seen and Jim really takes advantage of that. I would have told you sooner, but I ain’t think it would affect you like this,” Sebastian sighed slightly, but it ended in a scoff. John showed little reaction. Greg wasn’t sure if that was entirely true.   
  
“I fucking told you,” Sally huffed.   
  
“So you’re saying that this was all Moriarty’s idea, but Sherlock just went along with it and you let them?” Sylvian verified pointedly. Sebastian snarled slightly.   
  
“It’s not that simple,” he assured them.   
  
“Please!” John yelped. “Make it more complex.”  
  
“Sherlock,” Sebastian began wearily and clearly a tad confused. “He’s not a bad guy, okay? He’s, uh, neutral? If not self destructive. Okay wait.” He rubbed his temple with three heavy fingers and angry wrinkled appeared above his nose. “No. Think of it this way. Jim is the opposing team and Sherlock’s the referee, but Jim has, uh, bribed him I guess.”  
  
“What exactly does that make you, then?” Sally scoffed at him aggressively.   
  
“Fuck, I don’t know! I’m a Jim fan, but I fucking know when something ain’t right. Jim’s gone too fucking far this time. I’m sorry,” sincerely Sebastian. John stared at him for several moments more before retrieving his mobile from his pocket.   
  
“That’s the worst analogy I’ve ever heard,” Henry added on, having only been more confused by it. Sebastian growled at him.   
  
“So what you want us to believe is that Holmes is completely innocent and this is all Jim’s fault?” Greg piqued in for confirmation.   
  
“ _Sherlock_  is not innocent, but he’s not at fault, either. This is really entirely Jim’s fault. If it weren’t for him, Sherlock would have gotten bored a long time ago. Actually no, it’s mostly my fault for even allowing any of this to happen.” Sebastian rubbed his face into his palm tiredly.   
  
“You do realise you actually hold no responsibility for either of them, right?” Henry as off topic as usual. “I mean, it’s actually kind of sweet that you do, but there is nothing saying you /have/ to.”  
  
“Bloody hell, shut up Knight,” Sebastian groaned, though he had become far more passive by now.  
  
“Sherlock?” The entire room went quiet, suddenly focused intently on John and his mobile. “Hello. Want to go on a date with me?” John had lost his marbles. That was what was happening. He’d completely and utterly lost it. “I have, yes. . . I believe he’d told me everything he’s supposed to. . . No, I’ve already thought about it. In fact, I was far more prepared for this than the idea that you legitimately liked me. . . Tell Jim that besides Sally trying to knock his teeth out, there will be no ‘revenge’. . . Sebastian is not threatening me. . . No one is threatening me. . . I am lucid. . . Want to see the orchestra? . . . Fantastic, I’ll see you tomorrow.” John placed his mobile back into his pocket and the room remained silent for several moment before Greg spoke.  
  
“John? Was that a good idea?” he asked nervously.   
  
“No,” John answered blandly. “The worst, in fact.”  
  


[Sherlock] & Jim

  
It was always interesting to watch Sebastian snap. It was a rare opportunity and in the few times that it did happen, there was always a fair chance that it would mark the end of their relationship. Sherlock would always side with Jim and Sebastian knew this. So far, these arguments had always been in Jim’s favor and Sebastian had always come back, usually within a week. This one was no different, the argument entirely in Jim’s favor despite Sebastian’s attempt to make it seem otherwise, and it would be a wise guess to assume Sebastian would be back within the week. Neither of them were worried of that, though.   
  
“He’s going to tell Watson,” Sherlock murmured off handedly, effectively brought out of his thoughts by the storm. Sebastian was generally a calm man with a painful indifference to most things to the point of being completely apathetic, but when he was angered, it was a force to be reckoned with. Of course, he wouldn’t dare hit Jim and he had no desire to strike down Sherlock, so he would be passive. If he couldn’t hit Jim, he’d do his best to wreck his little game instead. Not that it ever worked.   
  
“That’s the plan,” Jim purred back simply, his attention focused back on his tablet and whatever work he was managing on the side. Sherlock was already fairly aware of what Jim was trying to accomplish. Sebastian would tell Watson who in turn would believe him because it was what made the most sense to his feeble mind and with the new found information, Watson would be able to rearrange his own thoughts and make a lucid choice based upon them. However, that would likely mean the end of their game. Watson wouldn’t try to get back at either of them, he would forgive Sebastian, and everything would waver out with a fizzle. Jim did not play games that ‘fizzled’, especially games that took so much effort on his part.   
  
“Watson isn’t going to choose to have nothing to do with you,” Jim murmured with that inflectionless tone. “He’s pinned after you, unwittingly to himself, basically for the entire time he’s been here. He follows you with his eyes constantly, even when he ‘zones out’. He’s interested in your opinion, even if he is not actively aware that it’s yours. He is concerned of your health beyond that of which he feels for his fellow peers. That fact that he doesn’t realise any of these things only makes it that much more powerful. He is entirely obsessed with you and when Sebastian tells him what’s happening, he’s going to realise it. He’s going to be upset and then when he understand that he’s overly upset, he’ll realise why. He’ll speak to his friends and they’ll assure him that it’s okay if he’s gay, or whatever else he wants to be, and that if his parents won’t accept him, they will. He’ll want to talk to you, but he won’t. Harriet Watson will talk to him first. She’ll tell him that their parents didn’t abandon her because she was gay. They abandon her because she was a drunk and useless and it was entirely her fault. He’ll take all this information and he will make his decision based on that. He’s not gay, he’s not even bisexual, but for some reason you’re the exception to that. He’ll discover this through experimentation and then he’ll realise that’s exactly what you were doing, even if it’s not. Then he will ask you on a date, just in time for the winter dance. What you say then will decide whether or not you two ‘go steady’.”  
  
“What will I say?”  
  
“You will say ‘yes’, Sherlock,” Jim assured him. That was all fine and well up until the point where Sherlock’s mobile rang.   
  
“It’s Watson,” he uttered.   
  
“What?” Jim answered stupidly. “Harriet?” Sherlock gave two slow shakes of the head. “John?” Well this was interesting. Though Jim seemed to have gotten it wrong, he smirked all the same. After all, wasn’t a game more fun when things were unexpected? Sherlock answered his mobile. Immediately Jim leaned into him, pressing his ear to the other side of the phone.  
  
“Hello. . . Date? Have you spoken to Sebastian? . . . What did he tell you? . . . Perhaps you should think about this, John?” Jim scoffed something about a revenge scheme under his breath. “Jim says you’re doing this for revenge. . . . John says to watch out for Donovan. That’s paraphrasing.” Jim scoffed again. “Are you being threatened? . . . By someone else for whatever reason that would be?” Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure if he was following what was happening. Of course, this wouldn’t be the first time John surprised him in that aspect.   
  
“Are you drunk? . . . What kind of date, exactly?. . . That sounds lovely actually. . . . I’ll see you tomorrow John.” Sherlock slowly placed his mobile down again. John had just asked him out on an actual date? This hadn’t really been in the plan. Jim was nearly as confused.   
  
“I think,” Sherlock murmured. “In being the sort of people we are known of being, it was only to be expected that Watson would be suspicious and thus be against everything that I did. Not that he knows, there are no surprises and he can lower his expectations. I think.”  
  
“No surprises,” Jim snorted.   
  
“So what now?” Sherlock asked with a certain air of eagerness. He was rather interested in Irene and thus was curious as to her reactions. Jim probably knew this and it was very unlikely that he was going to be very happy about it.   
  
“Oh the game’s not over, Sherlock,” Jim purred, leaning on Sherlock’s arm. “It’s just getting to the fun part. The good part is, you don’t have to pretend anymore, love.”   
  
“Hnn.”  
  


[Mycroft] & Harry

  
“He left in a hurry,” Harry chuckled mildly, reaching over the table to pocket their date’s wallet. They weren’t actually going to pay anything with his money, after all. Of course, Harry couldn’t put it away without rifling through it first, only to sate his own curiosity. “Real hero kind of guy, isn’t he? Rushing off his help his friend in the middle of what could possibly be the only chance at a date with you?”   
  
“That doesn’t make him a ‘hero’,” Mycroft answered simply. The situation, however, had Sherlock written all over it. He still needed to have a firm talk with his little brother. In fact, he should have already if it weren’t for Harry. Mycroft snipped Lestrade’s wallet from his hands quickly, tucking it away in his pocket to prevent him from snooping.   
  
“Okay, hero was the wrong word, but it is respectable at least,” Harry persisted, nudging his elbow into Mycroft’s side. Mycroft ignored him, returning to his food.  
  
“I’m not going to applaud him for being a decent person, Harry,” he sniffed simply. Good friends were supposed to put their friends first. Besides, this wasn’t actually a date. It was a lunch of which Harry, for whatever reason, invited Lestrade along to under the idea that it was a date. Really he would have assumed that Harry had showed up late just because of that, but he knew that wasn’t the case. He couldn’t honestly blame Harry for what caused him to be late even if he really wanted to. Supposedly having a one on one conversation with Lestrade hadn’t been entirely unpleasant. Whether it was because he was nervous or if he was simply like it naturally, he was very good at reading social cues which made things so much easier for Mycroft.   
  
“But there are so few decent people anymore,” Harry answered simply, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes against the warm sun. It was an untypically warm day for fall. “I think you’re just trying to find fault in him because of me.”  
  
“You certainly aren’t helping,” Mycroft agreed. “But no, I am not. I am not finding fault in him at all. I’ve told you multiple times Harry, I am not interested in a relationship with anyone right now. Gregory is included in that.”  
  
“And I accept that,” Harry insisted and then proceeded not to. “But are you at least attracted to him? Just because you’re not interested in a relationship doesn’t mean you can’t like someone.”  
  
“Don’t give him false hope that /this/, whatever this even is, is going to work.”  
  
“And I won’t. Is that a yes?”   
  
“You’re really grasping at straws, Harry,” Mycroft proceeded on stubbornly.   
  
“I’m not hearing a no,” Harry sang in an annoying fashion. Mycroft stared him down with pale green orbs. “I knew it! You are!” He just wasn’t going to let this go. Rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, Mycroft sighed.   
  
“I am not romantically or sexually attracted to Gregory Lestrade, Harry. Though,” he tacked on quietly. “I will admit that I hold a certain fondness for his positive personality traits and certain negatives ones can occasionally be slightly endearing.”  
  
“That’s all I wanted,” Harry purred, clearly content with having made even the slightest bit of progress. Mycroft certainly wasn’t going to tell him this wasn’t progress and was basically meaningless. By no means was it because ‘that was what he wanted’, either. It had absolutely nothing to do with Harry, even if he was the one trying to force Mycroft’s hand. Fortunately, the conversation moved on. “Winter is coming up quickly. Are you going back home?”  
  
“We are. Mummy is already sending very holiday centric letters. She can’t wait until we’re back again,” he noted absently. As much as Mycroft loved his dear mother, she could be rather heavy handed on her letters. They were home multiple times throughout the year and she knew she could come and visit the school whenever she was in town. It wasn’t as if they ignored her the rest of the time, either. He forgave her, though. She was their mother and it was only natural that she wanted to take care of them, even if they didn’t need to be taken care of.   
  
“If Jim coming with you?” Harry asked, though this question was far more pointed than the last.   
  
“Of course. Mummy’s practically adopted him as her own. Why?” Mycroft already knew why Harry had been late, but this beckoned the question anyways.   
  
“I think he’s having family troubles,” Harry answered all too sincerely.   
  
“His family is trouble. It’s nothing to worry about. Will you be visiting?”   
  
“No, no. My parents decided they hate the snow. We’ll be flying somewhere less snow covered and spending holiday there. It’s really too bad. I was hoping for a taste of your mother’s fruitcake again.”   
  
“I’ll be sure you send you all of them. You’re the only one who can stand the damn things.”  
  
“It’s well appreciated.”  
  


Irene & [Molly] & Kate

  
Molly honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent that long in Sherlock’s company. Even now, she couldn’t help but hold onto his crush for the very attractive Holmes. She’d been well informed by Henry that a crush was really only an affection gesture that would bear no fruit and it was perfectly normal and then she got a headache. Talking to Henry for too long nearly always resulted in a headache. He was really nice though, when he wasn’t being proddy.   
  
It was only a little surprising that Irene had managed to take so fondly to Sherlock. It was much more surprising that Sherlock had taken a liking to her. Sherlock hardly liked anyone, as friends or otherwise. Molly wasn’t even sure if he was friends with his ‘friends’. Of course, though, Irene was really pretty and it could only be expected that pretty people got together. She twirled a piece of hair around her finger fruitlessly, as if it would give her lifeless hair a bit of body.   
  
“Molly?” Irene whispered, standing a little too close as she was so prone to do. Molly, just as she did every time Irene got a little too close, jumped. She still wasn’t sure if Irene was actually trying to flirt with her or was just an over affection sort of person.   
  
“Y-yes?” Molly squeaked in reply.   
  
“Is everything alright?” she asked innocently enough.   
  
“Oh. Y-yeah. I was just thinking,” Molly murmured, already deciding that she didn’t need to go into detail and really needed to stop talking before she said something stupid. The thought didn’t reach her mouth in time. “How well you got along with Sherlock. You’d really make a cute couple.”  
  
“Molly,” Irene chuckled softly. “I don’t think it’s going to work out between us.” Molly’s face lit up bright red. She hadn’t meant it honestly, of course. It was a purely aesthetic idea that should have never left her mouth. Fortunately, they did not need to talk about this anymore.   
  
“Hi Kate,” Molly noted quickly, perhaps just a little too quickly. Kate smiled calmly.   
  
“Hey Molly. This must be Ms. Adler. I’m Kate Carruthers, no relation to Harry. I’ll be helping you join into your classes and extracurricular activities,” she assured. Irene held out her hand, must as she had done for Henry, but unlike Henry, Kate took up her hand and graced it with a polite kiss.   
  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kate,” Irene smiled, more than flattered.   
  
“Pleasure’s all mine. I take it you have some idea of what classes you want to attend? It will be easier to get you into extras now rather than later,” Kate informed, taking her tablet up in her hand and swiping her fingers over it.   
  
“What is Mr. Holmes up to?” Irene mused. Kate glanced up mildly, but it was clear the question wasn’t directed at her and certainly not the older Holmes.   
  
“Uh. Fencing, I think, and violin,” Molly reluctantly answered. Irene pursed her lips.   
  
“Moriarty?”  
  
“Fencing and business?”  
  
“The big one. The blond big one.”  
  
“Rugby and home economics.”  
  
“What about the John one?”   
  
“Rugby and clarinet.”  
  
“Is there anything not dreadfully boring at this school?” Irene complained half heartedly. “What about the other one. Henry?”  
  
“Football and I think he’s doing sociology. You could try to get on the council?” Molly suggested.   
  
“I won’t be sticking my nose into anything political anytime soon,” Irene scoffed. “Home economics and football will be fine,” she assured. Kate nodded.  
  
“I’ll see what I can do. We’ll try to match the rest of your classes from your old school as close as possible. If any of them were too hard or too easy for you, now would be the time to mention them.”  
  
“They’ll do fine as they were,” Irene assured. They watched each other calmly and almost immediately, Molly felt unwanted and incredibly nervous. Was Irene really going to just flirt with everyone? She was standing right here still! Perhaps she should leave?  
  
“I think, I’ll just- go back to the dorm?” Molly murmured in a sort of fake pleasantry.   
  
“Wait for me, would you Molly?” Irene answered immediately, stopping the little brunette in her tracks. That was exactly what Molly didn’t want to happen.   
  
“Ah. I really need to get back. I have things to prepare for class tomorrow.”   
  
“I’m almost done, don’t worry.”   
  
“R-righ.”  
  


[Harry]

  
[call missed; Clara<3]  
  
[four missed calls.]  
  
[seven text messages.]  
  
[four new voicemails. Message one; “Harry please. Answer your mobile. I haven’t heard from you in days. At least tell me you’re alright. You are alright, aren’t you?” End message. Press one to- message deleted. Message two; “Someone told me you were sleeping under the bleachers. Just come back to the room Harry. I don’t want to fight you.” Press- message deleted. Message three; “Harry-” message deleted. Message four; “Your brother needs you, Harry. At least talk to him.” Pre- message deleted. End of messages.]  
  
[Clara<3] [two days ago] Just tell me you’re not in a ditch somewhere. Please.  
[Clara<3] [yesterday] Whatever I did. I’m sorry.   
[Clara<3] [10:20] If you’re absent for more than a week, they’ll suspend you, Harry.  
[Holmes, Mycroft] [12:00] Return to the school within the next twenty four hours or I will be forced to alert authorities of your absence.  
[Henry, John’s friend] [17:28] John needs you, Harry. Please come help him.  
[Clara<3] [17:46] You can ignore me, but how can you ignore your brother like this?   
[Moriarty, Jim] [18:00] You’re ruining your brother’s chance at being happy. Tell him.   
  
[incoming picture message] Clara and Harry cuddling on the bleachers during a cold game last year. Sober, happy, and in love.   
  
[dialing; John, brother. please leave a message at the tone.] “John. John listen to me. Hic. Remember when we talked? Remem-remember after mom and dad got mad at me? I think you- you misunderstood somethin. Mom and dad- mom and dad- hic- mom and dad weren’t mad at me because-because a’ Clure. Clara. I- I have a confession John. John I- hic- I was drinkin months before that- that argument. I’mma stop, okay? I’m gonna- gonna stop. Mom an’ da will love you no matter what John. Okay? L-listen. Don’t- don’t blame them. I’m- I’m just’a screw up. I’ve always been’a screw’p. I’m shorry John. I’m so sorry.” [end message]  
  
[John, brother] [1:02] Thank you Harry. I love you.  
  
[me to Clara<3] [5:00] I love you Clara. I’m so sorry.  
  
[Clara<3] [5:13] I love you too, Harry. Please come back.   
  
[me to Clara<3] [5:30] Okay.


End file.
